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Poems :  A nightmare
Tags: Life  
 
The system aborts.
(Multiple organs failure)
A deviant art
of dying pompously.

I wish, I was on a ─
moving floor, sailing
without a walk, looking at
the camouflaged ceiling.

The shrill voice of a whistle─
blower, mimics an opera.
I will snatch the words,
raw, from your lips.

It was here, in absence.
Your poesy, matter-of-factly.
Can you raise your voice
against the fall of the thing.

Satish Verma



Satish Verma

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satishverma
Author satishverma
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Poem
Date 2014/5/6 4:53:44
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License Creative Commons License
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Recents
Broken Arms
Erecting Another Totem
Mooning Around
Some Profanity
Reciting The Fake Poem
Random
Not True
Trembling Daffodils
Tempestuous
CONSECRATED
SUICIDE NOTE
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