The bone line travels
from flesh to flesh,
tears into blood.
I was not crude, not blunt.
Dew teasers,
were my guests with luggage
of pain, ready to dip to taste
the language of surrender.
There was no acrimony
between enemies.
Across a hot blazing desert
walking barefoot to find you
in a vein of green water, O my curse
I will scoop you into my poem
to become a daisy.
Satish Verma
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: April 21st, 2011 22:03
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Offline)
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