APARTHIED

Offspring were preoccupied in their spiral career, 
you feel sorry. You don’t get the sleep, 
core-feelings flee from 
the windows of an ailing house. 
A cloud softens again in the eyes. 
Wronged truth has created 
an aparthied in ranks of candles. 

Inner pain gropes towards 
the spot between eyes. 
You survive by the 
whispers of absolute bliss. 
Looking becomes a sequential text. 
The self divides the darkness into hot flames. 
Outpouring the anguish, the frailities. 

At dawn the blackness 
of dripping night fades. 
The earth wins the moral nothingness, 
beyond the regrets of inspired sermons. 
The psyche is rooted 
deep in the mud, topless 
dust spreading the 
message of preferred truce.

Satish Verma