THE ETERNAL QUEST

You cast doubt,
on the definition.
Gods play with words,
like winged fruits,
Man becomes the spawn of destiny.

Sparrows were flying
out. I will watch―
the window closed. A slant of
light withers away.
I am writing my poems in dark.

The vintage rings under
the eyes, will retrieve
the lost meaning of
truth, from the ruins of
time. I will again start my pilgrimage.

Satish Verma