Crossing Time Zones

by Satish Verma

I became uniquely quiescent
like a depthless indulgence,
in shadows of conception.

The waves after waves,
of a restless continuity,
swept the floors of mind.

Anonymity of self started expanding...
Sun burns mercilessly,
on prayers of parched lips.

The breadwinner beats the chest
and the dirt of long legs falls on the souvenirs.

With traditional pouring, we wash the sins.
It was too late for mourning.
Tears to tears, eyes lie in wait
for a miracle which will not happen.

A longing always remains,
a dying whisper of a storm.
The desert will return
with vengeance
and clouds will never come.

18-May-2012

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