A surreal religion comes, straight to altar. 
The doubts shift, organise the intolerance. 
Life looks deceitful and modesty goes awry. 
The craft, the art, the maneuvering become sexed. 
Sperms gauge the pathway. 

The beauty of empty mind, 
always delivers an eclectic music. 
We search our hearts, the bared silence. 
The death was creeping, 
within the seeds and, 
we were counting digital roses. 
The pinnacle of vision was crumbling. 

You squat on the cinders of untruths, 
it was powerful dementia. 
The denial of fire, 
was your timeless perception. 
The brain had ruined, 
the realm of hard truths. 
We were falling apart behind the curtains.

Satish Verma