Knocking At Door Poem by Satish Verma
Knocking At Door
I would not bend the
truth. A grape in mouth
will stimulate the wedge.
Night will hammer on my chest
with glossy fists. I am born
again in your muteness.
A ghost line walks with me
to pull out the delicate verse.
Everyday a tulip is delivered
in the folds of woodcraft.
Sunday, August 21, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/26/2024 3:47:42 PM # 1.0.0.1119
