A Handful of Victories

by Satish Verma

Where death and exotica meet,
Life stands naked in midst of our sacred hymns,
Shadow fighting is not actuality.

An essay on truth fades.
Someday I will pull down the curtain.
At the end of the road, death waits,
Apologizing for coming unannounced.

A white cloud drifts in our arms.
The deep sorrow walks with us and the empty home,
Now belongs to moonlight.

In nothingness, our achievement claims
A handful of victories, tossing here and there.

The empty words transport the dark lies.
The truth lies bleeding, and we flee from our predictions.

04-Feb-2012

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