PLASMA OOZING

We listened deeply to the sounds 
of seed power of duality. 
I was very restive 
there was no time to review 
the veracity of benevolence. 
It was a flight of songs, 
a passage through silence. 

The event and nonevent, 
became burning topics enslaving the angles of lips 
and splitting the smiles. 
If you wanted to feel the truth, 
you must undergo splendid mutation, 
to read the grains, 
the sun, the rains. 

Here comes the moon 
sailing on dry bones 
of our trivialities; 
of our banalities, 
shutting off our thoughts. 
Multiples of our arts, 
our performances, 
had the plasma oozing 
from our buried themes.

Satish Verma