Penury Ward Poem by Satish Verma
Penury Ward
In tattered clothes.
I would see my returned privation.
I will make the holes bigger,
so that light seeps in,
on my blackened chest.
The lovers will not meet
today, out, in open;
on moonward path.
The charred remains―
of the rope are visible.
The soaked blanket, to sleep in,
has become infernal.
What are you drinking now?
No other passage,
no exit, even the kiss of death?
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 11:21:55 AM # 1.0.0.1119
