All life, he wanted to know himself
like a sea, which drowns itself
in the boat.
In your own turf, time had beaten
you again and again. Still you will
not become a fodder,
on the dirt ramp.
Many things you did not say for
the sake of a pause in the learning.
The absolute versus scantly clad version,
always hurt you.
A city breaks up in small quarters
of anguish, rubbing on the future?
behind the glass
for a relative truth.
Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2016