On Sick Bed Poem by Satish Verma
On Sick Bed
There were involuntary
pauses.
When you stretch at the sheets.
Those were scorching
questions, about my identity.
I tell, I don't have any name.
The body was partitioned.
My head belongs
to psalms, which I don't understand.
My torso to the lost
ship which went down
without a torpedo.
My legs were my own
taking me, to places, where
I did not want to go.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 11:05:09 AM # 1.0.0.1119
