CROSSING THE SEA

Till the end story 
hope was not visible 
to others. 

Lie neutral truth 
and road side innocence 
died under the sun. 

End in view was shifting 
from error to error. 
Statements squeezed between departures. 

Steaming cup of patience 
dazzled the penniless. 
I was sick of hypocrisy. 

At the end of my forest 
dawn of my child 
was peeling a rainbow. 

Pedlars of worn out boats 
were standing at the shores. 
Two little feet were crossing the sea.

Satish Verma