White Snakes Poem by Satish Verma
White Snakes
A retrograde flow
of subtlety. The
letters have gone out of shape.
Can you read the
fog, when night stalls
the moon?
How do I express
my agony, this huge precipice
of denials?
Love your enemy
was not my cake. A
tender no was enough to subtract.
Suddenly you start
flirting with yourself. After all
you melt in the picture
of fall.
Thursday, July 27, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/13/2024 12:24:41 PM # 1.0.0.1119
