Poetry

Move the steps, 
to accept the dark. 
Moon has abdicated the throne. 
 
I am still trying to become. 
Not becoming something. 
A lot has remained― 
 
unsaid in my small poems. 
I am still trying, still trying 
to decipher the life, to decipher. 
 
The roots will know my pain. 
My pain, why did I remained 
mute amidst the clamouring words? 
 
Tell me, why should it happen? 
Why should? That someone jumps 
in the boiling cauldron to find the truth.