Captive Of Conscience Poem by Satish Verma
Captive Of Conscience
You shut to it―
the window, on watching
a row of walking stones
without feet.
Pouting,
scowling―
in a mile of tears.
(A pink lotus spills
the colors on water)
Let me talk
to my wilderness. The
script was incomplete
in shadows of greyhounds.
You crawl on the grass to find a four-leaf clover.
Saturday, November 12, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/6/2024 11:07:43 AM # 1.0.0.1119
