Chaste Tree Poem by Satish Verma
Chaste Tree
A poem writes my name.
I am trembling
on paper like salt.
Flowing like moon
on the black wound.
The lamb and the skull.
I know the saint
invented by masses.
You need a fresh awakening.
A vastness from nothing to nothing.
Later the pebbles will dance
on the bay of death.
Sometimes the scales were jinxed,
sometimes the weight was light.
I was sitting under a chaste tree.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 2:49:33 PM # 1.0.0.1119
