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Poems :  CULT OF LYNCHING
Tags: Life  
 
Mountains were coming down to
never-home,
in surreal rebuff to shaking earth;
emerging from the shadows of sky.

In groping for the legs
this was the myth of lynching.
You are drenched in the rains
of promises.

A kiss for each lethal penetration,
for global time-
you are becoming a wasteland
borne out of swollen fingertips-

who would not write any name.
The many words of pain are finding
a new meaning from the vocabulary
of conceit and betrayals.

A deliberate isolation brings
the sound sleep to ashes to become a thing.

Satish Verma



Satish Verma

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satishverma
Author satishverma
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Date 2013/5/9 5:34:48
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Recents
In Nostalgia
Infinite Loss
Eyeshades
Where To Go
Your Philosophy
Random
Vignette
Blue Heights
SATURN WILL SHORTLY RISE
THE FINALE
WHITE FEAR
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