No Praise Poem by Satish Verma
No Praise
It was the geometry of the
circle. Something was fishy in collecting
the knowledge of undying. You were your enemy.
You say time to become
warrior. Spell it out, the murder of
unarmed black birds.
You must move. Don't
stand like a milestone. Will you try avant-garde
to read the footprint of tall humans?
Tuesday, March 14, 2023
Topic(s) of this poem: murder
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8/6/2026 4:51:19 PM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
