Death Mask Poem by Satish Verma
Death Mask
It was not the worth
of a cloud,
your garden, sitting
on the lake.
Refresh drops, in the
dry eyes of the rope, which was
wounding around your neck
like a snake.
You want to become
a blue god now, on
opioids. A living ruin, attracting
the tourists.
The terrible change,
we are dragging our dead body
under the shadow of
the toes.
Thursday, July 14, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/5/2024 9:33:44 AM # 1.0.0.1119
