Fluting Poem by Satish Verma
Fluting
Time unleashed from ferrum
becomes pain
like a palm moon.
A tableau vivant was gliding
on the road.
It was a night of rage.
A frozen scene
undulates the history of fire
in the eyes of a flute.
Who was breaking
the clouds
wading in reeds?
Saturday, July 2, 2011
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4/26/2024 6:57:42 AM # 1.0.0.1119
