Irony
A severed hand on my shoulder
wrenches it off.
You sit on a toadstool
to measure the depth of grass.
A raven scans the earth:
nothing was left to eat.
The hungry urchins had
already punctured the garbage can.
A live show of committing suicide
will take place tonight.
To become silent in roaring noises
was the outcome of a dive.
A terrorist in pilgrim’s pouch walks past
a bomb. The wires reach in the schism
of a faith. Again you cry in your skin
for sake of a forgotten god.
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.
