satishverma

THE FROST

This overwhelming emptiness: 
something to present allegorical, figuratively, 
which is not here. Vultures were coming back. 
A stimulating dialogue must start 

to release the hostages of unknown fears. 
The menacing fog was towering over statements. 
Everything was turning into coal and the smoke 
was streaming from the oasis. 

Where we were on the impounded road 
unstuck after ethnic cleansing? 
The jealous blood was coloring the greed 
on the cold shoulders of priested bluff. 

The beast loses the domination, bread 
and milk of drifting poor. In glass house the 
clouds were entering. The dissecting table 
was ready to nail the sea of hate.

Satish Verma

Comments1

  • Dolphine29

    Do you think the day will come, when people will see that there is no need to search from an empty table?
    I like this poem, it makes me see the seed of change is moving.



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