Ash On Roses Poem by Satish Verma
Ash On Roses
I am, because
you are not there.
In cold blood
you slice the moon
and drink the tears.
The forest path
opens for the shot
tigress. She will
survive.
A mysterious hand
picks up my name to
write a wounded
poem.
There was no war
between the gatherers
of blood-soaked shirts.
Will you come back
bone, flesh, heart?
Saturday, December 15, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/18/2024 5:22:16 PM # 1.0.0.1119
