Truth Hides Behind Sun

Satish Verma

Let go the nightmares 
and oneness, 
and climb down the deep― 
stairwell to find your image, 
in seething rage of quiet water. 

It was not very hot 
to raise the fever of native pain 
in your legs. The delicate 
heights of golden peaks you 
won, slumber― when you discover yourself. 

Poem matters in black ink, 
on white paper which bloats 
in self praise. The world 
trembles in earthquakes of sermons. 
Fauna and flora are turning back. 

Enough to snuf the guts. 
You don't love the parting.