CREATIVE SHAME

Neglecting the presence of choiceless 
pain, I became singular and I said 
I would not allow the life 
slip through my fingers. 

Looking inside, beneath the rags 
of awakening, makes you to rebel 
against the decadent forgiveness. 
Belief in dying was a reversed nightmare. 

Till the arteries explode in the limbs. 
A robot kindles the hope to walk 
without a brain and I grieve for the 
death of a nightingale in the woods. 

I will knead the invisible universe, 
roll it to the stone wall of conscience. 
Age will undo the million dreams 
behind the creative shame.

Satish Verma