Perfect Imperfect Poem by Satish Verma
Perfect Imperfect
Flowers―
They follow you, whenever
you sleep in dark.
The bluebirds
will wait till you open
your diary showing the exotic surrender.
I am collecting
dewdrops to wash your face
with sacred hands.
Don't fly again
over the seas, when sun
settles down on waves.
Whole body
shivers, before spilling
elixir to save you.
Wednesday, January 31, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/19/2024 5:25:32 AM # 1.0.0.1119
