CARRIED MY FATHER UNSIDE

Mirror to mirror 
a face floated in anguish 
the mourning was deep 
whenever inquest for truth was made. 
Was it so terrible? 
I cannot read the human face. 
We were so used 
to wear the masks. 

Stoned and deaf, 
fuzzy kiss of death levels the ferocious peak. 
The nameless murder 
of truth got a reward. 
Garden of strange foliage 
slurred on a song. 
A metaphysical experience 
sniffs the life. 

Chained to the probity of the city 
I bowed my head. 
Reluctant to move in a procession of ugly months. 
Lifetime’s nostalgia lifted a veil. 
No sleep will descend. 
I still carry 
my father inside.

Satish Verma