Existentialism Poem by Satish Verma
Existentialism
A weird wound opens
the mind. My heart beats very fast.
What is? What is not.
I script an area to
send a message home. I survive
the absence of reply. And no home.
In the weak air
the sun flowers zoom to preach, not to
become the sun at night.
Saturday, January 6, 2024
Topic(s) of this poem: home,sun
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8/28/2026 1:32:56 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
