Faceless Journey Poem by Satish Verma
Faceless Journey
An insider was asking:
this was a very troubling question.
Why a culture becomes sick,
burns the book,
and beheads a god?
Forgive my loincloth. This
century was becoming very hot
till the nose bleeds
and fills the cauldron
of kiss.
The dust was settling
on the pages of history.
Strangly you want now a
sexless death. Porn and religion
were making you realy mad.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 6:55:53 AM # 1.0.0.1119
