On Naked Paper Poem by Satish Verma
On Naked Paper
Rating: ★5.0
Smitten by your holy
tongue, the muse melts
in the raging sun.
There was a deep
gorge between the hills.
My face turns blue.
Trembling hands will knit
splendent wreath for a
departing moon.
Friday, August 30, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/8/2024 3:29:10 PM # 1.0.0.1119
A perceptive poetic expression, sir Satish...10+++