Author Information
Singing Woods
Folder:
Satish Verma Walking out of the body
I was drowned,
accepted and condoned by depth of sorrow.
A wide circle of testosterone
giving pardon to a sin
becomes sexless.
You were overwhelmed by the missed beats.
Your prosaic crime of not fathering
the words becomes a belly dance
for wrinkled verses. There was no meaning left
for the artifacts, the national shame.
The autumn was praying for the
well-being of pine needles in fog. The repetition
of the outbursts was cold and I
was smiling.
Mesmerising Lines
"...The autumn was praying for the/well-bing of pine needles in fog..." To obscure (fog) that which has died (pine needles) with a season for dying back - the new Sandburg. :D ~Stella~