After the rains,
it was a full moon
in summer night.
Fleeing from a subculture-
of violence, she was
nestling in the arms of clouds.
A lost killer swearing
with bruised arms,
raking up the old vendetta-
beheads the phallic
image. A brutalizing
score, when we were celebrating
the moon’s arrival. There was
no impropriety in spilling.
Sperm was the conjugal bliss.
Satish Verma's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Reverberating by Satish Verma )
Did you read them?
Poem of the Day
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- হ্যালোউইন, Asif Andalib
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Question, May Swenson
- Its time to let go!, Sylvia Chidi
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(22 August 1893 - 7 June 1967)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)