The evening wind tapped me on the shoulder
gently and said:
Clouds will talk to you now
I turned around, looked up at the sky
and drops filled my eyes.
Daily I was drinking hemlock
to understand my ignorance of virtue.
He is gone, but I want to feel the ascending
paralysis, a tincture that is called poison.
For the sake of others, below the faith
lies the pain concealed.
My cup is full. It spills on the soul
and I grieve for the defiled truth.
Satish Verma
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: April 26th, 2013 21:42
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.