a poem by Satish Verma, India

We were not yet in centrality he said:
to fill the something in nothing.
Lines were static and boundaries unclear.
The sound and fury were useless,
and way back into the realm of infinity
the answer was laid.

Who will open the door of museum
to find his abandoned statue?
Faded, covered with dirt and droppings.
Doomed ideas were etched before the pain
appeared on his face. The fall had come
before the end.

This world was a theater of disappointments.
Actors pretended to he unreal; in actuality
they were playing the role of unfinished symbols.


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