Being Grateful Poem by Satish Verma

Being Grateful



Trying to shake hands
with moon hanging out, to
reconstruct a memory.

Was fortunate
to have survived the night.

A theater of death was birthing.

No sighting of mercy,
I was going to punish myself.
The faithless will hatch a plot.

Why swear words
are needed to make a point?

The man-eater
was climbing up.
Your body language leaves you.
In despair of aloneness
quietism overtakes.

You have reached there,
where you had willed.
I will wait for the wasps.

Monday, July 10, 2017
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