Belonging
to unbelonging
was becoming a method
exploring the path.
In the backyard unpleasant fumes
were rising.
Nocturnal swoop of enlightment,
clearly becomes a festival
of yellow death.
Who was hiding the truth?
Flowering of the thought in sky
ripens cessation of grief.
Slopes and summits,
bring tears in eyes.
Solace of ancestral home
was gone. Bold ceilings were hung by ungodly fears.
Wet hands lift the body of past,
classical future was gleaming slowly.
SATISH VERMA
staring at forever!
grinning,
empty;
free of meaning...
this slippery surface of merCurious illuMentation;
an ephemeral shining at the back of the mind,
illuminating the limits of the fatal skin-we're-in --
it's the plight of the unbelonging to be longing
before this bottomless bliss
listening to the sound only the heart can hear
reasons un-wound fall unbound toward
a pointlessness of
parallaxing into tunnel-vision -
where the paralysis of analysis 'n indecision
gets
wrapped up
in many Mansions,
for LotusBlossomslaughter.
Belonging
to unbelonging
was becoming a method
exploring the path.
In the backyard unpleasant fumes
were rising.
Nocturnal swoop of enlightment,
clearly becomes a festival
of yellow death.
Who was hiding the truth?
Flowering of the thought in sky
ripens cessation of grief.
Slopes and summits,
bring tears in eyes.
Solace of ancestral home
was gone. Bold ceilings were hung by ungodly fears.
Wet hands lift the body of past,
classical future was gleaming slowly.
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