A Patriarch Maps Poem by Satish Verma
A Patriarch Maps
Speak less. The setting sun
behind you casts a shadow.
Can you plant a kiss―
On dry lips of moon.
A songbird was playing with
fire to jump in flames.
My hands are singed.
I was trying to collect the
melting wax of eyes.
Thursday, February 13, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/4/2024 3:36:20 AM # 1.0.0.1119
