At the foot of the
burning candle, a dancing
shadow gives you a call.
In moment of
hubris, all chandeliers
will crash and prehistoric dirt
will cling to hairy legs.
The taste of berries
was changing. In deep
autumn only skeletons
talk.
Near the lamp
festival, we will watch
the leaking sky. The
aliens would have the last laugh.
The time turns
back the clocks. The
defiant mood will bring out
the beautiful masks.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: November 29th, 2021 20:02
- Category: Nature
- Views: 26
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments1
no matter how bleak or macabre
its underlying, nihilistic content
when its written: this poetic
it can only be inspirational, as Art!
(another great write
thanks for sharing, Guru!)
'In moment
of hubris, all chandeliers
will crash
and prehistoric dirt, will cling
to hairy legs.'
brilliant imagery,
how deeply your metaphors
can be excavated, to mine
the treasure's in your wisdom
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