Enormous Precipice Poem by Satish Verma

Enormous Precipice

Rating: 4.5


Ah, the statecraft of
present times, was becoming
agender.
The strength of institution
would lie in old oil paintings.

You become stupid
and start living in dark rooms
to understand the sun.

Half-beliefs were―
cooked straight from the
sermons of striped coats.

The delusion was
simple. There was camphora
to revive the fainting glory.

Monday, February 13, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Lantz Pierre 14 February 2017

The only thing that cannot be said correctly is the truth. It has no echo. Thrown against vertical walls what returns is only melancholy blue. Or pinks and oranges of sunset on a day when you did nothing, on a day when you were alone and the sky cried sounds your heart heard.

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