Spherules start a pincer attack
on the modesty of an epiphany.
The manifestation was incomplete.
The windows were very small in-
the wind-palace. Only ringdoves
were sitting on the sills, cooing all day.
They were sitting in a row; cross-
legged, the naked monks. As a penance
they were getting the scalp hair pinched off.
Swearing will not help. You need to
suffer like a forgotten language,
like grass blades who bend again & again.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: May 8th, 2017 19:46
- Category: Nature
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments1
You, my friend, are a great writer. For a long time, I have read your work, but never commented. I don't want to be just an empty view anymore. I want you to know that you are truly seen, for the great writer you are. Marvelous work, as always. May your pen never run out of ink.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.