The Rarest Thing Poem by Satish Verma
The Rarest Thing
The night watchman
has become an etcher.
The stoning of the shirt
must stop. These moments were the
real sinners/beating the moon.
A simple story becomes an epic.
The belly buttons start
stammering. Meaning did not take a bath.
Canaries have gone on a strike.
They will not sing on the edge of night.
An oil painting walks out of the canvas―
to become a parable.
The creator of this art
was done.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/18/2024 7:58:30 PM # 1.0.0.1119
lovely poem, the poem is composed with beautiful words and images, thanks for sharing