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Author Name: Freesatishverma 2 Comments
Date Added: November 23, 2011 23:11:46 Average Score: (Needs 2)
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Type: Unspecified
Category: Inspirational Add To Favorites | Text Only
 
MOODS
coming out of the frame,
in evening without a sun, unflinchingly,
he said, he was talking to his father
daily, in his mind, who was in grave,
(when he was on ventilator)
about a lesson of deception, about the things
evolved in endogamy,

cherubic, it seems, but there was water on the moon too,
in solitude, on gravel, under the rocks;
he kept on washing his hands for hours,
to remove the dirt and stigma, gathered on shaking
the lamps around the dark and then he started
collecting the flowers from the embroidery
of clouds

do not cry in the afternoon


Satish Verma
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Comments:
Comment By: PremiumFirestone Feinberg on November 24, 2011 11:17:16 AM Report
A beautiful existential poem.  I can't say I fully comprehend it -- but I sure can appreciate the stunning words and the living lines that lead them around this dreamy song.  Thanks for a rest from the usual! --David
Comment By: FreeLady Dragonwyck on November 24, 2011 09:16:50 AM Report


Hello, Sir.  Your always thought-provoking writes.  I daily enjoy your writes. 


 


Lady D





 


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