Wafer-Thin Poem by Satish Verma
Wafer-Thin
Wearing a straitjacket
you come out in open.
This was a black day.
You were not invited.
The economy smells of stale fever.
A pungent smoke rises
from the joints.
A decision drifts. Scare of
paper bomb stills―
the flow of tea.
There was a party.
People come and go. Skullcaps
galore. White on brown sugar.
There is no love lost between us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 2:34:46 AM # 1.0.0.1119
