Bushes bow to bear
The brunt of the boots;
The satirical rope of destiny
Pull me to the edge of the garden;
Cumbersome creepers
Cringe within own embraces;
Thorns go flat at heads
Sucking blood from toes;
Wisps of smoke hang over
Soaked footpaths where
Burnt carcasses lie twisted
Like commas;
The God feels guilty
And hides in the craggy
Inside of a roadside temple.
Having lost His own game.
devastation portrayed in words..........sucking praises from all. thank u for reading my poems and please do rate and comment on them.
i really, really like the last stanza; that is a great piece of writing
The God feels guilty (it sounds naive) And hides in the craggy Inside of a roadside temple. Having lost His own game. ................................................ But fine lines Best wishes, Ts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The God feels guilty And hides in the craggy Inside of a roadside temple. Having lost His own game. Ah the cream of the poem in such a small stanza. We humans have pushed our God to a helpless state to a corner INA road side temple. Thanks poet for such a lovely poem. 10 for it.