Anxieties Poem by Satish Verma
Anxieties
What could you do
when the donor fatigue
is on display? And stops the succor?
You are no more hungry.
A Buddha sleeps nonchalantly.
Small, blue grapes leave
their mark on the plate.
It will take decades to unknow
the sexual orientation.
Breathing in the incense,
the cannabis rules.
You were inhaling the history.
A unisex quality
in the seedless pomes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 1:17:11 PM # 1.0.0.1119
