FATIGUE OF WASTED YEARS

The wheels find, 
the track on my body, 
why do I shiver & tremble? 
The night gives me the depth, 
a grim reminder of realism. 
The consortium of thorns, 
the splinters float in my eyes. 

The dignified seizure, 
takes hold of your body 
your mind writhes, 
under the surface. 
You hold head in agony. 
Waking is more painful. 
Is it worth that? 
The biography celebrates, 
the death of a god. 

The negative virtue and, 
upright truth clash, 
in midst of worst weather. 
The red tongue gives, 
the hot sermons. 
Fatigue of wasted years, 
weigh heavily on my arms.

Satish Verma