Eternal Wait

Fear of becoming sane inherits the hate of earth. I wake up in the rains of time. Fire of soul extracts the thought shapes like stark naked truth in the desert of pain – unbirthing the child of wisdom. I hardly think, in my failures. The house will go up in blaze by the earthen lamp of fading glory. There was no light, a quick death of lips and speech. The human touch- prints had avenged for words. Inspiration will wait. SATISH VERMA