Confessional Truth

by Satish Verma

Liquefied version of pain has started working.
Human material constructs a floating emotion at last.

One by one
I rediscover the children of sorrow
among the ruins of ancient prayers.

The fear lurks under the trees,
under the stones.
I can read it,
unwashed stillness of a revolution.

It was real yesterday,
but collapsed on the rim of today.
My wrinkled faith gets ready for a proliferation of rites.

The land suffers...
My solitude remains unmeasured.
In despair, I latch on to sounds of pursuing light.

Impatiently, the dialogues are thrown around.
The philosophy of confessional truth becomes very auspicious.

19-Mar-2012

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