No Visual Sorrow Poem by Satish Verma
No Visual Sorrow
Going to save my
trust. A legend is born in empty hands.
Sacred kisses become bitter.
It was a dharma,
to give an emotional wound. The eyes
open when you come out of the womb.
A divine fault. We
walk in the opposite direction from the
home. I scream to meet the creator.
Thursday, December 14, 2023
Topic(s) of this poem: trust
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8/29/2026 2:37:18 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
