Becoming A Totem Poem by Satish Verma
Becoming A Totem
Rating: ★5.0
Moon was playing
with a skylark. I give
a whistle. He ducks behind
the palm.
This was your figment
of imagination. You had
said, bring the last sound
of the forest.
I was the giver.
I am the taker.
An immaculate kiss
of the flame will decide
the destiny of bullet.
There was no distance
between the lips and
the hiss of the venomous snake.
Wednesday, April 10, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/17/2024 4:17:26 AM # 1.0.0.1119
A fantastic write, sir Satish.....10+++++++++