HOUSE OF RAINS

Hold the innocence, 
at brink of sliding death. 
Formless learning never answers 
the questions of life 
and truth. A single meaning 
connects to unnumbered voices. 
Anarchy of rimless vision 
flourishes. I trace out 
the pink stain of a murder on the sand. 

Going beyond the fear 
was a sane thought 
I was the pain 
and I was the truth. 
Life presided over 
the hyphenated relationship. 
What do I do with the broken mirror? 
The severed head of sun 
trembles in the mid - afternoon. 
Light of the east fading? 

Cogitating on fear of dying, 
In contrast to benevolence 
I flung out the pleasure, from window 
to find the brokenness of time. 
The depression swelters under the doubts. 
I want to see the house of rains, 
of wounds and your pride.

Satish Verma