28 april 2020

poetry

Satish Verma
Satish Verma

False Ceiling

You wanted tranquility
clean and sane,
scudding at persona
impact.
 
Some thinking disorder?
You start cutting yourself.
 
Collecting the body parts.
 
Yellow jasmine. I will know that
I do not know the fields of hate.
 
When your world falls apart,
what I would do.
 
Every day
I dig up a sin
with a knife.
 

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