Satish Verma

Gold Star - 53,811 Points (5-6-1935)

The Ink Did Not Stop - Poem by Satish Verma

Sitting on the heap of debris
I decided to move one day.
The rain did not stop
I was walking alone.

It was a cruel time, my toes caught
in bad thaw. I was working on a bawling
theme of comatose words, a pottery of sorts.
In fact the fear had not saved me.
The sun did not stop
I was thinking alone.

A prosaic neighbourhood had acquired
weapons, I was inattentive. My wounds
always bled in hooting night.
A flute it seems talked to me.
The moon did not stop
I was weeping alone.

Terrible, terrible it was to abandon
my home of luxury, to become a stone,
to walk like a ghost with orphaned
spirit. The voice without echo, murmuring.
The ink did not stop
I was writing alone.

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Comments about The Ink Did Not Stop by Satish Verma

  • Lantz Pierre (2/1/2017 7:49:00 AM)

    What the vessels had once contained the sun absorbed in sacrificial rite. The mud and dung feared nothing from the rattlesnakes whose jaws could unhinge at will. What swung open with poison was hollow, such was its utility. (Report)Reply

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Langston Hughes


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Poem Submitted: Friday, October 12, 2007

Poem Edited: Saturday, April 16, 2011

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