Let The Sun Come Late Poem by Satish Verma
Let The Sun Come Late
If you touch
slightly drunk moon,
at the sill of window, you will
alter the moon of November.
I wait for the earthquake to begin.
The carpenter had promised
to deliver the rocker tonight.
I will make friends
with dark room.
Your hands start shaking
holding a glass―
half-full.
Time to shut the doors.
Sunday, July 23, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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9/19/2024 11:58:28 AM # 1.0.0.1119
