Shifting Sands

Using me, I take a refuge in desire. ‘Seeing act’ strangulates. I suffer in the mists of defeat, there is no evidence. One attachment catches the conflict. The fading light of moon burns my pillow, transcripts impenetrable theme. Conceiving a problem in the shifting sands, life seeks a view of words and enjoys the discreet meaningless movement. We play the game again & again, feed our egos. Study the sorrow and give charity to the torn flags of pride and hunger. The fear does not end, the looking does not stop. Each answer leaps to a grief. The chronicle of squeezed holocaust. we were hurting each other humming a song. Violence of non-violence was more evident. SATISH VERMA