THE HABITAT

Will not show my wounds, life extracts a price.
A heap of pain, squeezed into eyes
hits me with daily bread.
Draws the conflicts
and sets the fears free.
A half moon wipes my tears.
Destiny clings to dust
Phoenix is rising.

Ruthlessly, night causes pain
freedom is in peril.
The soul sings in a withering tone,
for the departing stars. Yellow,
youthful light of rising sun
burns the desires.
We hate the soaring choices
there is no end, no beginning.

My non-self opposing
the empty life, connects
the heart with contents of sorrow.
It fills up the nothingness.
I perceive a spring of forgotten grass,
engaged orchards and laughing fires
in the buds. Time for
the habitat to step in.

Satish Verma