WAKING IS PAINFUL

Reading the innocence of leaves, 
a tree, yellow stars, 
I was always glad of new birth 
and another death. Ceasation 
did not repeat itself. 
I hold the nightmare, hypnotized. 
Pride without flame, ending in smoke, 
until you come at dawn 
like an echo in silence. 

At process of transmutation 
old memories are indelible 
stains the solitude, 
when I am in retreat, to awake the silence. 
The wilderness haunts 
the morning glory of creation. 
Hope imitates the wings 
for a brief time. Waking is painful. 

In attachment to walls, 
labyrinth of miseries 
we wanted our language 
to show non-conflicting assumptions. 
Love generates the search 
for cloudless humility. 
Seeing through was not 
the romance. Denying 
was the essence of purity.

Satish Verma