Moving Into Fog Poem by Satish Verma
Moving Into Fog
It was difficult to
shut the window. Moon
was casting a spell.
A hill mynah in
golden cage wants to
start soul searching.
Will you peel my
thumb, so that I can smear
the blood spot on your forehead?
Why did the sedge give
the papyrus to man? I don't
want to read the tumultuous lineage.
Let the flogging stop.
The weeping dawn will not
witness the slaughter of moon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/11/2024 6:54:32 AM # 1.0.0.1119
