Poetry

Satish Verma


older other poems newer

30 january 2014

DROOPING

For a desolatory trident
I was feeding my anger.
I could not do it, sell
myself for punitive lenses of my calculus.

A nymphalid arsenal.
The war was still going on
to strike in deep poctets, demolishing
nascent hope. Future will

ponder at the mascots. The grief
of rags and riches will continue
listening to eternal conflicts.
The wounds will develop whiskers.

Not for the opulent pain in the body:
we were crying for the glory of the man
which was disappearing fast,
under the whirling snow of broken stars.


Satish Verma






Report this item

 


Terms of use | Privacy policy

Copyright © 2010 truml.com, by using this service you accept terms of use.


You have to be logged in to use this feature. please register

Ta strona używa plików cookie w celu usprawnienia i ułatwienia dostępu do serwisu oraz prowadzenia danych statystycznych. Dalsze korzystanie z tej witryny oznacza akceptację tego stanu rzeczy.    Polityka Prywatności   
ROZUMIEM
1