Unfilled Desires. Poem by Ritesh Verma

You burn without the smoke,
every time when you joke,
lighting others with the fire,
from the oil of your own soul.

Maybe to avoid the past,
maybe to accept the fact,
maybe to adjust the path,
maybe to fake a mask.

Its the price you pay,
to seek for redemption,
to censor the thoughts,
for a moment of peace.

The past is past,
well said by someone,
but memories do last,
not said by anyone.

But that is what you get,
a handful of memories,
and thoughts of the lost passion,
which is as good as some poison.