19 september 2021
Not My Angst
Tribal instinct spares none.
You change the script,
and come out to see the murmuration
of a flock of starlings.
The precision, the blend
make you wonder about the harmony
of small birds in unison,
an army moves as one body.
O man, your mathematics
has gone absurd. The sects and
cults. The zealot, the devout.
Brother, I will say unleafing must start.
More poems?
That does not work.
All the daffodils go blind.
Thousands of years go―
in making a vision.
25 april 2024
QuartzSatish Verma
24 april 2024
The End StartsSatish Verma
23 april 2024
Three poemsAdam Pietras (Barry Kant)
22 april 2024
Echoes TravelSatish Verma
21 april 2024
od wewnątrzsam53
21 april 2024
2104wiesiek
21 april 2024
Picking RelicsSatish Verma
20 april 2024
To Dying MuseSatish Verma
19 april 2024
The VoyagerSatish Verma
18 april 2024
ItinerantSatish Verma