Sitting In Dirt Poem by Satish Verma
Sitting In Dirt
Let us sit in shared light
and talk about the cove.
You take the call of a cuckoo,
and start trembling in blues.
You may sing without moving the lips
but this song is mine.
Why do you want to take your―
own life, in the drag race of bazaar?
Colors will hack you to death.
Don't climb the stairway to fame.
It was renaissance. The severed
hand was writing a letter of gratitude.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/6/2024 11:14:00 PM # 1.0.0.1119
