Poetry

The metastatic figure. 
He was seeking truth without thought, 
being in and out, he was sleepwalking in 
dream. I am the absolute, he said. Skeletons 
are popping up everywhere. Poor beasts. 
And there was the tired flame who 
burned all night in vain. 
 
The body was aching after the discovery 
of a super terrain. Another earth? or 
a conventional aberration? The planet 
was heaving with hot clouds. Reason 
for a substitute. Right perception of 
life was difficult. Everybody was running 
in opposite direction for a message. 
 
He dives to pull up the corpse of liberty 
locked deep in water. A noble idea to 
free the corrupt world from the bondage 
of decaying foundations. Half-truths and 
half-lies must live together for the human 
survival. Quest of the self ultimately 
begs for forgiveness.