The Face In Flames Poem by Satish Verma
The Face In Flames
Salt-of-the lips.
You never know, how it hurts
the bigotry.
It was not the might
of divinity, when you sentence
the child for blasphemy.
I would not kiss the―
stone, where the blood stained
the sun. Grey halo was collapsing.
It was the helplessness
of the river, accepting the guilt
of sunken boat.
Again I recite your name
in sleep. The sting was as cruel
as the tongue.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 8:47:40 AM # 1.0.0.1119
