The Urborn
Let it be, a dawn prayer,
dripping with fantasy
intercepting the strip-search of soul
tempting a mad psyche.
The sleeping volcano was going to celebrate,
put the sign on.
Perfectly shineless hands will raise
the banner to donate kidneys, eyes and heart
to the broken star,who on the name of book
was sending the empty cadaver on ivory car,
a saviour from carnage, to mimic
a divine touch.
Why are they playing with flames of summer ?
Poor minutes were sinned, the centuries
will suffer now. On the green leaves
a nightingale lies bleeding !
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.
