Curbing Poem by Satish Verma
Curbing
It was a lingering goodbye
for anchor moon
after a religious embrace.
I bid farewell
in the chilling night
for a song of separation.
Where the beginning ends
into a house of distillation.
Blasphemy, where did you find
the anatomy of truth? Mortality
demands a long
journey of tender age in prayers of sprouts.
The eloquence of dictionary
expects the price of hoofs
to stay with otherness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 8:30:24 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
