There was no end
to looking inside.
I was crumbling.
Unnamed homing in
of anguish,
not knowing me.
The wasted questions
of revival.
A depleted dawn of a failed sun?
A river war
between two hills
for a moon?
Time to ask
motor neurons,
why night had failed at ending?
Satish Verma
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem