When he was not walking with his shadow,
living in his own sorrow and hurts ;
he thought, he did not know
and sometimes he did not think he did not know..
And his cup of life overflowed with tears.
Death by any nickname was nefarious,
a nudist paradise, shedding all the pretentions
stripteasing without guests in dark.
An awkward display of celebration.
Ultimately one had to leave,
going back to innocent womb of defeat.
Head or tail, who wins the toss ? Nobody knows.
while the coin is lost in the sky,
and the game does not start.
He climbs up in the present, scratching thr pattern ;
neither believing in past
nor in future.
SATISH VERMA
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