Satish Verma

Gold Star - 54,406 Points (5-6-1935)

Happy Valley Of Stings - Poem by Satish Verma

I don’t fake the pain
pain was me.
A grafted rose opens up along the road rage.

This was the city of my birth
my oblivion, my reincarnation
ejaculated from the dark.

Here I found the golden dust
nuggets of truth
and the nostalgia of a broken moon.

The marble white love
and green bowl of arms
a happy valley of stings.

The sun backtracks on hills
when I walk on sands
leaving the deep scars.

A small horizon was my window
hunger of nightingales on branches.
The tree was walking in, my house.

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Comments about Happy Valley Of Stings by Satish Verma

  • Lantz Pierre (1/29/2017 2:46:00 AM)

    The view from childhood is a shuttered affair. Storm shutters protect but they also delimit. And youth, so I've told by old men wtih stooped backs leaning on wooden canes polished from long use, is limitless. (Report)Reply

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Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

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Poem Submitted: Friday, October 5, 2007

Poem Edited: Wednesday, April 13, 2011

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