FRUITS FALL LIKE DREAMS

We were absent from ourselves, 
the stillness roared 
like a mad sea. 
Keeping a night vigil didn’t help, 
we felt protected in blazing sun, 
quality of answers were deteriorating, 
the truth existed, 
beyond our beliefs. 

In non-aligned manners 
we disengaged from pain. 
It had become a habit, 
to walk in swamps 
instead of asphalt road, 
which was leading to peace. 
We watched the rise, 
and fall of attitudes together. 
Language failed to find an asylum. 

Ataxia of windows, 
cannot barricade the light, 
the fruits fall like dreams, 
on hard ground, to crack open, 
and disperse the seeds. 
When you start the 
voyage to distant realities, 
your days are over.

Satish Verma