Depending On Me
Disconnecting tragedy
you live again,
in myths
and illusions.
The grit. You lack the spine.
Rocks.
A slide.
The chicken.
The cow-pathway
leads to a barn of a mud hut,
where you stand every evening
to welcome the hoofs dust.
That tells the history,
the pain of unknowing,
revealing the name
of a killer.
There was silence
interrupted by a shriek.
Someone was rising
from the grave.
The inert things start moving.
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.
