Dead Lips Poem by Satish Verma
Dead Lips
Rating: ★4.5
Flesh by flesh
bone by bone.
I am tired of your religion.
The fake rituals―
to anoint the sins.
Meanwhile someone will execute
the pollen heads.
Blackbirds will come
and go in the corridors
of power to get the plums.
After a murderous day
slowly the moon
rises, to wash out the
dark stains of earth.
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/7/2024 8:33:17 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Throw rocks at your own peril. They care not. Whether caressed by water or punished by the particles sent by special delivery, your skin will never heal their pain. Salt lends life. And then wine. The seed splits and feeds on itself.