Suspended Fog Poem by Satish Verma
Suspended Fog
Charred―
blueberries.
I am returning your gifts
of cruel times,
when none was crying.
Chewed―
evidences.
I don't want to look at them―
to provide the measurement
of face.
A demoniac―
version,
of a sweet dialogue, stuck
in your throat.
You bend double.
Epitaphs
demand justice.
Nobody dies for his god, you
want to disappear to
take revenge.
Sunday, December 25, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/26/2024 3:40:49 AM # 1.0.0.1119
