Tonight moon will write a poem
on my hand
about an almond love.
I find a breeze.
Nightmare: I was caught stealing words
from your lips, a lark
flies into death, paralyzed
by peace!
I will have the baby, I cried
at the insult to a rape
of truth, after the brawl
Pyramid was not made in a day.
Who slept in the arms of ambers?
Look, it was an atomic illusion of a guilt
of centuries. Time walks with bowed head
like a blind man.
Baked brown in heat of wars like
a salted pistachio, perched high on dry
grass, a swallow watches the rising
lake with no stones floating.
Satish Verma
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: August 5th, 2011 22:50
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.