In Your Own Temple Poem by Satish Verma
In Your Own Temple
Between direct and
indirect lies futurism. How
to take on the inevitable?
Will you leave my
hand? I asked the scented wind.
In sanctuary god takes turn.
You speak via eyes,
how to live in sanctum sanctorum
without dying?
Saturday, May 2, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/29/2024 7:38:44 PM # 1.0.0.1119
