A Sunny Wait...

Young days start with a nostalgia 
for a lost freedom 
Anxiety was the prime suspect. 

As the age moves on, 
truth consumes the virtue. 
I hold this insult 
in the throes of conscience with tears. 

The dreams did not last long 
in the wild eyes of geniuses. 
Grace and dignity fell short of sinners. 
The prince of blackness strode 
on the white souls. 

I could not have been a witness 
of paradox. 
Lacked in the old books 
I still wait on the highway 
for a sun to climb the hill.

Satish Verma