Dying Flames Poem by Satish Verma
Dying Flames
When white mushrooms
come in procession
after the rains,
you bring back my ache―
O pink rose
words fall like birds.
Caparisoned, the
moon was rising from
the sand dunes, like a
camel after the festival of kiss
of love. The singed bank
of the lake was submerged in tears.
Fold your wings, O peacock,
clouds are going back home.
Monday, December 5, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/23/2024 3:03:43 AM # 1.0.0.1119
