Murder On The Table Poem by Satish Verma
Murder On The Table
Luminous, your head
rests on my chest. I pick the soil
under your feet and apply it on your forehead.
The old love speaks
in a different language. Now the
meaning has changed into greek.
I do not know when
the day ends with the sun. The
guest will come in the dark.
Monday, December 25, 2023
Topic(s) of this poem: murder
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8/28/2026 1:25:08 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
