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Your waking head
Your waking head

Your impressionist,

rift, comes through

uncontrolled hands of fear. The snake

was shedding the skin.

Not walking,

flying like a rage

discharging the burns

in the river of blood.

I shudder,

in the cleft of a grain.

Hymns were howering over the book.

One by one

the leaves fall, to unravel the secrets of

unvoiced grief of earth.

A thin faith crumbles

unfinding the lost shroud

of a messiah.

Satish Verma

------------------------------------------------------

YOUR WAKING HEAD

Your impressionist,

rift, comes through

uncontrolled hands of fear. The snake

was shedding the skin.

Not walking,

flying like a rage

discharging the burns

in the river of blood.

I shudder,

in the cleft of a grain.

Hymns were howering over the book.

One by one

the leaves fall, to unravel the secrets of

unvoiced grief of earth.

A thin faith crumbles

unfinding the lost shroud

of a messiah.

Satish Verma

------------------------------------------------------

YOUR WAKING HEAD

Your impressionist,

rift, comes through

uncontrolled hands of fear. The snake

was shedding the skin.

Not walking,

flying like a rage

discharging the burns

in the river of blood.

I shudder,

in the cleft of a grain.

Hymns were howering over the book.

One by one

the leaves fall, to unravel the secrets of

unvoiced grief of earth.

A thin faith crumbles

unfinding the lost shroud

of a messiah.

Satish Verma

------------------------------------------------------

YOUR WAKING HEAD

Your impressionist,

rift, comes through

uncontrolled hands of fear. The snake

was shedding the skin.

Not walking,

flying like a rage

discharging the burns

in the river of blood.

I shudder,

in the cleft of a grain.

Hymns were howering over the book.

One by one

the leaves fall, to unravel the secrets of

unvoiced grief of earth.

A thin faith crumbles

unfinding the lost shroud

of a messiah.

Satish Verma

------------------------------------------------------

YOUR WAKING HEAD

Your impressionist,

rift, comes through

uncontrolled hands of fear. The snake

was shedding the skin.

Not walking,

flying like a rage

discharging the burns

in the river of blood.

I shudder,

in the cleft of a grain.

Hymns were howering over the book.

One by one

the leaves fall, to unravel the secrets of

unvoiced grief of earth.

A thin faith crumbles

unfinding the lost shroud

of a messiah.

Satish Verma

------------------------------------------------------

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