Coming Full Circle Poem by Satish Verma
Coming Full Circle
This was the surrealistic
nightmare.
Omitting the guilt
I will paint a nude.
It was not kind of
pink. Cosy with words―
you will polish the legend,
misspell the murder.
Transfixed I enter
the still life. You come
out with bound hands
to say goodbye.
Sometimes I feel, it is
not over. The sap of black
pine becomes red.
Needles prick me, not to move.
You fold the holy book
and put it in bag.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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9/22/2024 8:21:00 PM # 1.0.0.1119
There is something very mystical that overwhelms the reader's sensibilities. Thanks. I quote: Transfixed I enter / the still life. You come out with bound hands / to say goodbye