Broken Arms Poem by Satish Verma
Broken Arms
The witch-hunt starts
for an unexploded bomb.
A racist slur becomes mute
for posterity.
The words start migrating―
coming out of their skin and colors.
A dead man walks into
a coal pit for exoneration.
Breathless, I become privy
to mass suicides of the flying moths.
You become a child, hiding
behind a tree, watching
a tiger maul a striped ariel.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/29/2024 10:03:18 PM # 1.0.0.1119
