False Ceiling Poem by Satish Verma
False Ceiling
You wanted tranquility
clean and sane,
scudding at persona
impact.
Some thinking disorder?
You start cutting yourself.
Collecting the body parts.
Yellow jasmine. I will know that
I do not know the fields of hate.
When your world falls apart,
what I would do.
Every day
I dig up a sin
with a knife.
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/19/2024 1:08:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
