Sometimes Poem by Satish Verma
Sometimes
Under the denuded
chinars, I stand
again, waiting for you.
The hawks were
pining, for a prey―
in morning prayers.
The chrysanthemums
stand in a row―
opening their hands.
Sometimes you
trace the plum scent
coming from lover's grave.
Monday, January 9, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poems
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4/25/2024 4:51:18 AM # 1.0.0.1119
