A Discreet Failure Poem by Satish Verma
A Discreet Failure
A midnight darkness―
threatens the purple moon,
standing in awe.
There were two poems―
in your hands― which you
wanted to read in my face.
One for the asking―
and one for the moral defeat.
Do you have anything else to narrate?
A thunderbird makes―
a landing in my insomnia―
to scatter the dreams.
The insane world returns
the gift of the pagoda tree. Buddha
will not come back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 3:42:50 PM # 1.0.0.1119
