Winter Tales Poem by Satish Verma
Winter Tales
Blood suckers were
always bound by veins. Man
becomes very small.
Spitting venom was
a style. You walk precariously
on strings to hide hunger.
Don't look at the
moon. Life will treat you very badly.
Give me shovel to unearth god.
You cannot erase
the name of an angel forgetting
to resuscitate his lover.
What was the thrill
of burning witch hazels when
blood was still flowing?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 1:03:59 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Beautifully articulated. Interesting reading...10+