My Battle Poem by Satish Verma
My Battle
After self-immolation,
what has been left with me
except the poems.
The tree will not speak now.
There was a good run-off
from the surface of golden leaves.
I will not meet the music
of sunset. There was a constant
flow of murmuring thoughts at night.
The narrative remembers the -
departure, but does not expect
anything from moon.
I will remain awake till
the dawn, then go
to a long sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/24/2024 10:11:35 AM # 1.0.0.1119
