He faked a letter to god
and slept whole night.
(Fallen in a creek from a moving train.)
Indeed, he saddled himself with luxury
of oblivion.
The success around him was most obstinate.
Pretending to condone the arthritis
of social limbs, he walked straight
to become what he would be,
a fakir among riches without fanfare. The
absolute renunciation, slapping the door –
shut, for blackness.
It was visible, the nakedness of brazen lies
falling like cottonwool around him. He touched
coral eyes of truth and wept, never to speak
again. Cosmos would split
for his journey to home.
This was meant for you, he said to himself.
Your own choosing without any regrets.
His fingers traced the figure of a mother
of the thin moon, who was assaulting
the crib of sun.
SATISH VERMA
Categories:
cottonwool, adventure, allegory, angst, animals,
Form: ABC
This Winters day the wind is whipping up rows of
turquoise white tipped waves pounding towards
an organic seaweed ladened haystacked shore.
White froth riding on marching parallell crests.
Five sailboats bending in a synchronised angle
slowly sail left towards the sturdy wooden jetty.
The sky painted in shades of cottonwool grey
carries the winds journey on the peaking sea.
The stinging sand dust carried by the wind
forms a fine powder vapour on the shoreline.
Such is the strength velocity of natures gale
but to seek refuge from the wind-lashed tide.
The wild wind intent on the ocean fades in notts
as we walk on the path leading to the main road.
Categories:
cottonwool, nature, places, sea, seasons,
Form: Sonnet