Crimson Red Poem by Satish Verma
Crimson Red
No death stop for colored
marbles. I am not dying to bring
the childhood for once.
Pretending comes to the
fore. Midriff of the moon was taboo.
This was a slaughter-a-day.
Are you a Mimosa pudica?
Not to be touched in sunlight.
It starts moving vigorously.
so beautifully inked. Like to read again and again. Great share.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 1:04:35 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Very keen observed, a gorgeous read and profound! Congratulations being chosen as the Member Poem Of The Day, dear Poet. TOP Marks 5 Stars!