The Melting Poem by Satish Verma
The Melting
Not moving, the words
had gone into inertia. The space was shrinking.
Only restlessness was there in buoyancy
ready to distort the sound of depth.
I am expanding in propriety,
in meaning.
Pure burning on flame of truth,
like a moth.
Listen to the guilt,
the denial to the stasis of soul.
The loneliness brings the touch
of unlimited falls.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
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4/19/2024 8:07:46 PM # 1.0.0.1119
