Get Your Premium Membership

FOR ANYTHING

A fake sanity with its wisdom enlarges the space between the coarse land of craft and sea of emotions for stress to walk with soul in sleep. A dope for the last hurt in hurricane at burning lake where I was collecting the black seeds from the fallen tree of love near the deck of house we built on waves. Do not corrupt the innocence of sky enveloping the rage of sun. The call was imminent from the dead leaves of autumn. One day the anginous waste will become seed vessels. Satish Verma

Copyright © | Year Posted 2011




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

Date: 3/25/2011 12:46:00 PM
I enjoyed reading your excellent poetry today Satish. I hope you have a wonderful weekend filled with new found inspiration. Love, Carol
Login to Reply
Date: 3/25/2011 8:05:00 AM
Now this is true poetry at its best.. Wow, I really like your style....Michael
Login to Reply