Imperfection Poem by Satish Verma
Imperfection
Rating: ★4.0
For image breaking
I exile myself
for one half-god
to lick my scars.
I have not touched
you even for ages―
in words.
The door knobs remained unturned.
I let go the dust. Time
was not ripe for me.
Still I have to
find my eternal muse.
I will strive, will
look around, to smell your―
presence. A warrior
always waits for the graceful exit.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/24/2024 5:30:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
You passed through security at the airport terminal with an air of impassivity, never looking back. The air swallowed you. The breezes were made by turbines whirring and laden with carbon. Nothing about it felt organic. The carbon was inert, could not combine.