Wakes The Blood

Walking alone in
the dishevelled inner space
I find peace in my failure,
an innocent patch of a silent hurt.
The futility of hollow beliefs
crawls like a spent thunder.
Truth remains unborn.

I cross a bridge where eterniry begins.
The freaks chase the shadow for a while,
the idea so excruciating
they melt in conspiracy of silence.

In oneness and suchness
the harmony drips
from infinite pores.
The seed has a history.
Lost in resonance of outer space,
now wakes the blood,
distorting the ripples.

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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