Managing his guilts to seduce the nocturnes
he left the gray area, surging
with a wandering death on the
half broken stairs –
before a closed gate was put on the pages,
he was trembling like toothed quaking aspen.
The grief of the scarred face,
in a serious midnight syndrome of
invisible slit throat in a long journey manifested
above the waves. Tree was calling again
for immoralism of flowers, quashing
his life.
The brave violence survives the mutilated
dreams.For once the mirror has won
again the onslaught of fingers.
Satish Verma
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The grief of the scarred face, in a serious midnight syndrome of invisible slit throat in a long journey manifested above the waves. Tree was calling again for immoralism of flowers, quashing his life. ------ splendid concrete poetry...like half forgotten dreams and grief...lovely! ! !