Muttering Poem by Satish Verma
Muttering
Miranda:
talk to your restive soul,
elementally abstract.
Home –
was minimal comfort,
for the flying birds.
Clock,
to explode today
on your face.
You were eying
the bride,
in turbulent sky.
Who had
brought the moon
at Agave’s feet?
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4/26/2024 12:55:24 AM # 1.0.0.1119
