Forgetting the Hymn

Spherules start a pincer attack
   on the modesty of an epiphany.
      The manifestation was incomplete.

The windows were very small in-
   the wind-palace. Only ringdoves
      were sitting on the sills, cooing all day.

They were sitting in a row; cross-
   legged, the naked monks. As a penance
      they were getting the scalp hair pinched off.

Swearing will not help. You need to
   suffer like a forgotten language,
      like grass blades who bend again & again.



Satish Verma
Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

Poem

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

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace