The Melting

by Satish Verma

Not moving, the words
had gone into inertia. The space was shrinking.
Only restlessness was there in buoyancy
ready to distort the sound of depth.

I am expanding in propriety,
in meaning.
Pure burning on flame of truth,
like a moth.

Listen to the guilt,
the denial to the stasis of soul.
The loneliness brings the touch
of unlimited falls.

02-Nov-2010

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