Misty Memories Poem by Satish Verma
Misty Memories
Grey air. I will come to myself, igniting
the fire. When will be ground reality known?
Standing on the cusp of pain.
It was not a legitimised, valorused decision.
When you will leave the things as
they are. I tossed the new born thoughts.
Great walls were crumbling
unfolding the ugly ephemeral cults.
Who gnaws my poems? Don't search
my unuttered words for your maturation.
A powerful and thought provoking poem. Great images.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 5:55:41 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Very well penned.