The Lingering Death Poem by Satish Verma
The Lingering Death
Time to make a sin.
The blood will not go back. Any
voice will become very dark.
The earth was an earth.
When my heart cries and the stones
make a beautiful temple.
My hands do not move
to catch the truth. The moon will
say, once the sun was my son.
Thursday, November 9, 2023
Topic(s) of this poem: earth,son
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8/28/2026 8:26:56 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
