ANCHORAGE

satishverma

I do not want to take you, 
either the road ahead, 
or lovely gyrations 
on low stage of voicelessness. 

The swoop of eagle 
on a little bundle, 
of chromatic fever: 
was it unbirdy? 

The tree of death grows taller 
than indelible darkness 
of life, harvesting 
tongues. 

Part of me were you, 
I had abandoned in fog. 
The gate will not open 
in common courtyard.

Satish Verma

  • Author: satishverma (Offline Offline)
  • Published: April 22nd, 2011 21:55
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 8
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors




To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.