Wandering Jew

by Satish Verma

Counting the digits
of your hand, you forget
how many fathers you have.

Was it not very odd that
truth exists in the crying eyes
of a child whose mother
has abruptly disappeared?

It always hurts, when
realization comes. A little
sprig of cowlick, reminds you of
timelessness. You can move -

in any direction. You want to
go. That will need a third eye.

31-Dec-2013

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