The Walls Poem by Satish Verma
The Walls
A green smoke was rising
to ferret out
the elusive pain
without body.
I went in search of
fidgety words
to patch up the conflicts
of flesh.
Bold as Passiflora,
Crucifixion was complete.
Today a gift of obeyance
will arrive.
It was a fake.
The eyes on the hump.
Camel has to cross
a steep desert.
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4/25/2024 5:31:35 AM # 1.0.0.1119
