It Was Unthinkable Poem by Satish Verma
It Was Unthinkable
You break me in four
pieces like a cross. The pause, space
and arrows wait for the red setting sun.
The script was twisted
Death comes before the birth. Power
of mud culture has no vision.
The hypocrisy invokes the
god's hands. I tend to remain
unconscious to dig my foundation.
Thursday, December 29, 2022
Topic(s) of this poem: birth,culture,power
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8/5/2026 7:30:43 PM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
