Scraping the Dimness
Like a prune, it was
an old year, standing
before me. You start
counting the wrinkles.
In shift, you become
the problem, cannot read
the jigsaw. It had
uprooted the faith.
I was terribley upset, the
birds had not returned
to the lake this winter; what
do I do, I was talking to moon.
A new misty morning. I take a
small foot, set myself in the
god’s hour and start
planting the bulbs of tulips.
Satish Verma
Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2015
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