Only Being

Walking the path with otherness; not achieving anything, I, condemned, to remain solitary, decline to join the gods of a crowd. So that my sun, remains shadowless. No, it is not the final verdict. I was always incomplete, unburdening my cipher, failing against the blood that demanded uninterrupted flow, blending right and wrong. My words were too much to say No. The melting snow remembered the names of the trees. On the breast of earth a signature theme plucks the grass to make way for the rose beds. This makes no secret of betrayal. Less prudent, I blunder, try to untie myself from future, and become little me, playing with the mask of present, carrying my blankness to become hungry again, for the knowledge which was never my fatal being. SATISH VERMA