Toxic Memory Poem by Satish Verma
Toxic Memory
They were teaching how to butcher
the lamb
and suspend the bines with
drooping hops.
I climbed out of my ashes towards
a marinated moon turned blue in consternation.
Warts and all, here we were ready
to pick up the lost threads to start
a conversation about the hurricane making
landfall, in near future.
After the fall, graffiti appeared on
the clouds, spurting sperms
on the stars.
Satish Verma
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 12:13:07 AM # 1.0.0.1119
