Satish Verma
…… Small Gods
Shared my solitude, gave me comfort,
the road, my prelude to a long journey
moved with me.
Sensual saints had a break midway
bolting the stars, when bruised arms
were building the shelter.
An offering to genius was not accepted
cold blooded murder of a dream.
Overnight my hair turned white
a genuine tale was twisted.
Absence of’me’ was not a meaning of death.
I was learning to live.
Can you tell me, what is time?
The clocks are crazy, do not slow down,
end was near without stopping,
The spirit was moving through formless door.
Everything was lost in space, the space
and unfolding were becoming one.
I was talking to prisnors of small gods
a snuffed lamp, living voice and beasts.
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