Suicides Poem by Satish Verma
Suicides
In despair,
beyond-pain, I will watch my dreams
in rimless eyes of wet faces.
The lake had been sending back
the white and black shrouds
everyday.
They were jumping one by one
old and young,
from the twisted planks
holding geraniums.
A warm prayer on the lips,
what was left worth enduring?
The innocence, the guilt, the shame?
Clinging to bloody lumps of happiness
who is going to have a last laugh?
Time is breathing gloom,
body is attached to a pole.
Sad and moving. I have heard it said that to be a great poet, one must know great pain. I feel sad because you are truly a great poet. Peace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/19/2024 2:42:08 PM # 1.0.0.1119
There is no mid-ground between the contrails of the commercial jetliner and the fertile earth below. Along the furrows I walk watering what will not grow. When winter comes I will pull the blanket of purest white up over my head with hesitation. In the darkness I will dream of you.