Unlikely Poem by Satish Verma
Unlikely
Seasoned,
a red hibiscus
will ask for a white name―
in winter. Like drinking
night, under the moon
for a torn meniscus.
How far was the skyline?
The snow wants to reach
the ultimate blue.
Water cries for a
beautiful weep for the sun.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/13/2024 11:54:55 PM # 1.0.0.1119
