With Licorice
Throw yourself on a time bomb
howling, breaking the words,
twisting the letters, reciting a prayer
after the rise of a monomania in the
face of mankind.
I am becoming poorer everyday
by grace of filth all around. Cannot hear
myself now in the marching band of curses
and abuse; a scion hides a fawn from
the eyes of wild bulls.
A hierarchy of buried skeletons, spineless
dinosaurs lying under the shadows of technicolor
maps and letting freeze the time. The music
was lapped by passersby. The world
was moving in circle.
Satish Verma
Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2009
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