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Poems :  TRAMPLING
Tags: Life  
 
It was happening.
It was a perverse state,
one by one we were tearing apart,
our wholeness, our human heritage.

A distorted image of beautiful order.
We went assembling the torn limbs.
Each desire was sutured
like a wound, to become a scar.
It was a collective grief of history.

Abrasion of ‘me’, grotesquely
disfigures the face
of soft weightless peace.
Love has never been the same.
The little things have become
enormous ghosts trampling our senses.
Ugly scrawls are scaring.

Satish Verma



Satish Verma

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satishverma
Author satishverma
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Date 2012/6/9 4:16:10
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Recents
Broken Arms
Erecting Another Totem
Mooning Around
Some Profanity
Reciting The Fake Poem
Random
To Agni
Skirting The Book
BEYOND THE CLIQUE
GRAY HANDS
MILKWEED
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