Punishing Myself Poem by Satish Verma
Punishing Myself
My personal agony,
very precious to me.
I was carrying you
on the paint brush, on crayon.
Canvas was
empty after you left. No oil
painting of curved lips and digitals.
You hang a man eater―
panther, after lynching.
Whole length suspended from a tree.
So beautiful, as a star night.
You were left
to yourself― to ponder over
the killer and the kill.
Who wins in war of words?
In war of lips?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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9/23/2024 2:54:58 AM # 1.0.0.1119
