Plasma Oozing

We listened deeply to the sounds of seed power of duality. I was very restive there was no time to review the veracity of benevolence. It was a flight of songs, a passage through silence. The event and nonevent, became burning topics enslaving the angles of lips and splitting the smiles. If you wanted to feel the truth, you must undergo splendid mutation, to read the grains, the sun, the rains. Here comes the moon sailing on dry bones of our trivialities; of our banalities, shutting off our thoughts. Multiples of our arts, our performances, had the plasma oozing from our buried themes. SATISH VERMA