Civil Resistance Poem by Satish Verma
Civil Resistance
Being me
like a butterfly I cannot
fold the wings.
Why do we need to
burn the orchard grass
for an interim exit.
My bête noire was me.
I would not separate the
statecraft from worship.
Snubbing the trees,
I want to climb tall to know, why
were we using sarin and mustard.
On the road to avatars,
I won’t believe, that a released
soul should come back.
Robotic, someone was
searching a lost forest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/19/2024 4:41:58 AM # 1.0.0.1119
