Confessional Hurt Poem by Satish Verma
Confessional Hurt
Holding the ladder
I was hungry
looking at the waiting dawn.
Raw landscape:
narcissism
forages the belly.
Picking up the figs
from passion flowers.
Is that right?
Can you sow the seeds
on a cloud?
Unclothed words?
Stealthily
a guerilla smashes
a summary of centre.
A falconer
releases a prey
to feed an anarchy.
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4/25/2024 5:59:35 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Clothed words and unappreciative minds are the same..always feel the suffocation of identity. Well written...Satish verma, ,