Ephemeral Poem by Satish Verma
Ephemeral
Again a forest
walks, wounded and broke.
I sculpt a poem.
To get some relief
of truth, give me a vedic
hymn, Beethoven script.
The spring waits in
the buds of chest. When love
sprouts, look at the moon.
A virgin kiss
of Karma, turns the page.
Acid-burned, my hand
hold the pen.
And I think of
the beautiful orchids trying to
find a home.
Tuesday, April 16, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/1/2024 11:32:29 AM # 1.0.0.1119
