Solitudes

satishverma

The questions hang like skin tags.
A broken mirror, stabs
during birth of time.

We have got to do it, save it
in its infancy, before it is submerged
along with the temple of fake gods: -

before it is plagiarized by the
polity. The wives were fattening
on art of running the state

from behind the curtains. Would
you like to sign on my skin?
Your death wish? I am washing

my sins today. It is bit cold
here in the blue lake of tears. Now
you can hold my arm for final plunge.

  • Author: satishverma (Offline Offline)
  • Published: February 20th, 2016 22:55
  • Category: Nature
  • Views: 11
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.