A Sickened Craft - Poem by Satish Verma
Waiting for a chaste bread, whole
life under the moon,
to speak off the inconsistency of
with a monologue
of a needle in eyes
for a madness of sublime verse.
Canoeing in a frozen lake
for a stranded rose,
you stop at a bosky bank.
A weeping willow greets
the lost son.
A school bag measures the knowledge
of surrounding hills, who had
plucked out the stars
from the sky.
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