I wanted nothing
from you, O prophet
of the holy tomb.
Lie in rest.
The living memory
fails, I look inside the
sepulcher. There were
only dry rosed petals.
At peace in temple of
flagellation. I am catching
blue butterflies.
I go for metaphysics.
Try to deceive myself
and forget the real.
In defining the being,
an angel wants a
pound of flesh.
Nothingness wins.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: February 20th, 2022 22:42
- Category: Nature
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments1
'At peace in temple of
flagellation. I am catching
blue butterflies.'
Pure, distilled Genius!!!
thank you: Guru
(how unattainably rare
those blue butterflies...)
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