Waves Poem by Satish Verma
Waves
In the forlorn-hope the
ash on forehead, sacrificing my
pain, I will find my poem.
To stop the killing of
my land. In my chest lives a small
Buddha. You went a little too far.
To heal the scourging
bruises. Why do you lower the watch?
Earth has many enemies waiting.
Friday, August 20, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: enemies
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8/5/2026 6:58:27 PM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
