Stoking Poem by Satish Verma
Stoking
Just a sip on verge,
man was eating a mountain,
forgetting carnations.
A peacock sits on the belly
of a torchbearer
for a credible crime.
One Buddha fails today.
Turns around
and goes back to his princess.
Give me blood money
to kill myself
for sitting under a bo tree.
I do not seek any bliss, do not need any home.
The stoker will not stop hurling the insults.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/24/2024 5:22:42 AM # 1.0.0.1119
