Deep blue, almost black,
sadness.
Being,
my ache of existence.
Eyes, no body in focus.
A grey cloud
rowing the moon
amidst red stars.
Bronzed tongue
digs the spirit
out of flesh
behind the shadows.
Alone me
in unlived house of rags,
looking beyond the walls
other side of tomorrow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I gave it a 10, because i know your writing....but actually, Satish, i think you can do more with this, and i would love to see its expansion. tight, crisp. focused - always. best care, sjg