Black Woods Poem by Satish Verma
Black Woods
The hanged girls,
unraped?
Or the slit throats?
What your antennae are sensing?
Unlifting the veil,
why were you rubbing the
stones in dark?
Absent seizures.
You blink only, without
any response.
Print your body on the
canvas, with cracked
hands.
The cities are burning.
Throw the nets in the
river. You may
catch a prophet.
Friday, December 30, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/30/2024 8:37:51 AM # 1.0.0.1119
