Fly-Trap Poem by Satish Verma
Fly-Trap
You are not me.
It was not gentle,
it was not sweet.
It was fire in the glass.
One yellow rose was opening up
in a very bright night.
I was shivering
under the leafless shade of hawthorn.
One surrogate mother
picks up the wormholes.
One tendril oscillates
to entwine the lover.
Stealthily, the sad moon slides
into the big bosom of clouds.
My eyes now search,
the bared, Venus fly-trap.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 5:17:11 PM # 1.0.0.1119
