Into The Dark Poem by Satish Verma
Into The Dark
In western sky
hundreds of small birds were
flying in an arc,
synchronized in orange.
The grass, holding
the skirts, wants to cascade
in death of the
paramour.
Let the copper―
speak of hurt, in the
thighs of moon.
It will not climb tonight.
Saturday, August 20, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poems
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4/24/2024 12:53:13 PM # 1.0.0.1119
