Drift Wood Poem by Satish Verma
Drift Wood
This politics of poverty
erupts again,
entrapped in arcane script.
A code of words will find
the fault lines.
Coerced to wait in a
black book, you start forgetting
the rules of game. It hits you
when you were writing
a poem.
At the end of the arguments
a lynx eyed moon walks
on the lake of tears, constructing
a dam of bread, for
a broken promise.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
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4/25/2024 2:48:41 PM # 1.0.0.1119
