Sonorous Voices Poem by Satish Verma
Sonorous Voices
I wanted to be ready.
Take my consent for the assault,
before you reveal
your fangs.
Trigger-happy,
the fiesty moon, shoots
at the tangerines of orange―
red skins.
The waves will not grieve.
There was ample time
to drown the black buttons
of windshields.
Bleeding mouths of
baby poems eject the barbs.
Forget the believers. There
was no magic in my art.
It was a pure symphony.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/27/2024 4:11:53 PM # 1.0.0.1119
