How Many Times Poem by Satish Verma
How Many Times
Sitting at a funeral;
in ashes, you search-
the faces of dead. To
shut down the apostrophes.
How far was your home,
you don’t want to
go back? A black moon
invites the tallest flare-
of the sun. Bright
death will ask no compensation.
You can travel over half-
memories of frozen pain.
Hourglass to Kundo clocks,
you were collecting all the
souvenirs to stall the
translations from coast to coast.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/18/2024 10:40:54 AM # 1.0.0.1119
