Unjointed Time

Satish Verma

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.