No Rivalry Poem by Satish Verma
No Rivalry
Something― you wanted to
say, which you would not.
Planet breaks― disheveled, weeping
being― unbeing.
Sometimes you play a game
of trembling legs―
waiting to run away
from your anguished inside.
The last hour of night
blinks. A baby sun about
to be born, and you find yourself
unprepared.
The black letters, on yellow
pages, under the streetlight
dance. A fat dream burns.
A book bleeds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 10:45:13 AM # 1.0.0.1119
