A Mask Done Poem by Satish Verma
A Mask Done
Your time
was not my time.
An arrow had pierced the space.
There was no past,
no present.
Only I had given you the future.
And now
a volcano will not sleep.
When the death
arrives from sky, how
will you welcome it
with broken heart?
When somebody is
burnt-out, would you collect
the ashes of poems?
The proceeds should go
to barren fields of human mind.
May be, a virgin marigold
bursts out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 5:40:41 AM # 1.0.0.1119
