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Poems :  An Acrimonious Dialogue
Tags: Life  
 
The ambrosial ending
of the day. I was not sure
of myself. How would the
thumb mould the pen
in internal search
of cavities?

You are not going to live
hundred years. Falling from
the terrace, with a thud,
lying in the pool of blood, till you
find the celibate truth?

Between the dust and dawn
lies the dark. The oesophageal
reflux makes a hole
in each eye. Can you
read in the thick fog
of absent faces?



Satish Verma

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Date 2017/2/19 3:30:53
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Recents
Broken Arms
Erecting Another Totem
Mooning Around
Some Profanity
Reciting The Fake Poem
Random
Ink Fall
WAILING WINDOWS
SPROUTING SEEDS
DYING TO LIVE
ONE SAINT WALKED OVER THE RIDGE
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