If God Wills Poem by Satish Verma
If God Wills
In a sneaky way
I liked to distrust him.
A between of daemon and man.
The fake guru. There was
a covert sign. I can find no name.
A delicate balance, of standing
in sun, shadowless, faceless.
The art of making a night
of riots with blood splattered roses.
This was magic.
The gullible falls, head on, carrying the cross.
A star crosses the moon.
A saint was born.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/28/2024 2:37:19 AM # 1.0.0.1119
