The Dumps Poem by Satish Verma
The Dumps
The words had started to fail me.
There was always an ‘if'―
before every war of hunger.
The candlewick has burned
out. I am collecting the―
wax from the eyes.
Wrapped agony, now lifts
the dead bird from the
rose bushes.
The frosted god
will melt to bare a
black stone.
I am not luck
I am not the future.
You know where this path leads into?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 2:58:44 PM # 1.0.0.1119
