This Myth Of Life Poem by Satish Verma
This Myth Of Life
Today I am alone―
with myself,
not even with wet eyes.
A corona intends to go into flames.
Stars unaligned―
where was the need of the god
to commit a failure?
The ruins must stay for ever.
Hurtling towards the sun
you wanted to know― why black scorpions
live in the flares of light?
Nothingness bites you. The
despair hurts, because you wanted
the freedom to die without
inventing the Deity.
My guilt should not be identified.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/4/2024 3:50:46 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Every grain of sand on the beach, the sugar white, the lava black, the average light beige beach sand, every grain has its own channel on the television. Programming specific to its needs. Not for any other. The only problem is that sand can't stop being sand. So the forests watch.