Life invades the truth.
Who cares?
The night was thin,
my eyes will search for stars.
Now pain travels,
backward from a smile?
A myth unfolds the terror,
of infinite tomorrows,
an escape from the eternity?
We will die,
only in our separate truths,
united by untruths.
Picking our poisonous arrows,
worshipping our griefs,
an invisible hand unclothes our past.
I ask myself was it the spectre,
fear of extinction?
Death will not shout,
it comes quietly.
Death by cancer or cirrhosis,
it comes sailing.
We were already dying,
without our clones
like a deserted wasteland,
with lethal seeds.
Satish Verma
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