A Yearning

If hate was becoming an absolute truth
and love was transcending lies
where do we go now?

This daily life, I was seeing
the pain of troubled identity,
turning into punishment of unbecoming.

The hired untruths
are killing the tender doubts.
No body wants to look back
at the subscribers of violence.

Be my friend.
Let us go for a pilgrimage into past,
for a sacred bath.
Uncovered and naked
in the hot spring of madness.

At last we will take the heat of sun
in open sky,
manipulate the wind metaphorically
and sleep in our bodies.

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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