Theme: Life


Interned in my own prison
beneath the skin,
I stop the silver wheels.
An aloof sliding down the impotent rage
I shout, I will not buy the flakes.

The hirsute nobility
of gorillas
dancing on knives
before striking a lamb for ribs
splitting the history.

A seedless walking
to erase the footprints of sunny ghosts.
You want to raise a crop of lies
dreaming about the mother
and her sins.


More By  :  Satish Verma

Views: 1388     Comments: 0

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