FLOWERING OF THE THOUGHT

Belonging 
to unbelonging 
was becoming a method 
exploring the path. 
In the backyard unpleasant fumes 
were rising. 

Nocturnal swoop of enlightment, 
clearly becomes a festival 
of yellow death. 
Who was hiding the truth? 

Flowering of the thought in sky 
ripens cessation of grief. 
Slopes and summits, 
bring tears in eyes. 

Solace of ancestral home 
was gone. Bold ceilings were hung by ungodly fears. 
Wet hands lift the body of past, 
classical future was gleaming slowly.

Satish Verma