Satish Verma
Unjointed Time
Let the untold suffering
settle the incompleteness of truth.
You have to move out―
making space.
The empty chair fills in
at dark. I talk to my father,
daily about the remains of life
and falling debris.
A son does not want to
know the futurity. A dazed poet
will write the history of ruins
which was younger than memory.
A resilience still brings me
face to face with the gods of dead souls.
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