A Love Song
When the intellect was
defiling the unwritten book;
half-read, you reach for epiphancy.
Why you had to kill yourself
on the swing, before reaching-
the peak ? Searching for escape ?
I cannot know you, O flame.
Do not go beyond the sky.
My wings twist like nasturtiums.
Last night a city wept in-
my arms. There were no roses-
left and, no cut glass nudes.
They bleed, when you dig
out the roots. The croci were
planted by me when snow had melted.
Satish Verma
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
