Small Pains Poem by Satish Verma
Small Pains
Rating: ★5.0
I want you to call
me, when my shirt was stainless
and sun was rising.
The monarch lands on
my book to read the verse―
meant for the moon.
The empty mind spins.
Script was totally burnt-out in
my voicelessness.
Friday, November 23, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/4/2024 4:58:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Satish, such a well expressed poem...................10++++++++++++++