The Muse Blinks Poem by Satish Verma
The Muse Blinks
A curse. Unsinkable.
Like Sisyphus. Dementia.
You forget your name.
You sit alone with
brain. World cheats.
The poet turns yellow.
Sylvia Plath is still
sleeping. Honestly. The
love has many blues. No bones.
Monday, April 1, 2024
Topic(s) of this poem: life
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8/28/2026 2:59:25 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
