Going Blind Poem by Satish Verma
Going Blind
Seething with agony.
Unsinned―
the creatures were asking for
human rights.
Tracing the spiritual odyssey.
You have landed in a
volcano pit, looking for
the first autumn.
Smudgeless you walk in a
coal mine. It plunks. There
were spots in the sun. Bragging
was coming to the fore.
I am closing the book, not
to read again the drooling
script. Ages were harvesting
the tunnels.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/5/2026 2:43:52 PM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
