PASSAGE TO UNKNOWN

At cultural opening of thin 
layers of faith & consciousness, 
a new breed of angels was 
romping on our souls. 
I suffered again for tiny spaces 
between the thoughts. 
Death cannot be intrusive. 
It waits at the door of light. 
The show will start when truth dies. 

I go again for the reality of anticlimax, 
the anxiety of endless flights into fantasies, 
the hallucinations of falling trees. 
Give me some space to pedal 
the silken smoke of dark truths. 

There was fire in my heart 
and eternal burning 
of a lake. I cared for tears, 
the eerie memories. 
The age-old pain of seeking 
the liberation from twisted symbols, 
simple measures of 
finding a passage to unknown.

Satish Verma