Disoriented Poem by Satish Verma
Disoriented
I was worried.
A deviant had lost the shape,
and had thrown a word at your face.
The black name was crawling
on the white paper. It was not
a rape, but the abduction―
of a mystic.
The snake time. Politics.
The crowd was celebrating the death.
What would you say, death
had many names?
I want to sleep with you tonight,
O moon. The slave
had become the master.
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 9:50:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
