Cross Beams Poem by Satish Verma
Cross Beams
A quest for negativity
after becoming apolitical.
The moon was marginalized,
when you lighted your―
earthen lamp under the
holy basil.
At night the demons
begin the assaults to
make the milk dirty.
The bluebird descends
in the dream to pick up
the elders for a wreath.
I am not going to cross
the river in flames.
Friday, March 18, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/25/2024 3:01:43 PM # 1.0.0.1119
