RESSURECTION

The wind writes a name on the clouds 
and sun wipes out the letters. 
This game continues daily. 
coming into life after every death. 

Exhausted I want to believe 
and make up my mind to go 
for a new birth. 

The resentment has accumulated 
all the life 
against the futility of winning a race. 
In the end you reach no where. 

A void impossible to fill. 
The years monitored, lay waste 
something to die.

Satish Verma