Treasure Island

Satish Verma

(5-6-1935)

Superstitions


An empty chair in a
muffled day, starts
a self-import and
falters on steps.

You need the fear, to
strike back, when the
tracer distribution
returns with a ghost.

The discount will substract
from the truth. I will
find the zero at the
end of lies.

Will I concede to the
barter? Let me first taste
the bitterness of victory,
become drunk on your hate.

Submitted: Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

What do you think this poem is about?



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

improve

Comments about this poem (Superstitions by Satish Verma )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..
[Hata Bildir]