The Exit Poem by Satish Verma
The Exit
The sleep was disturbed.
A book reads me.
The thinker will not rest in the arms
of Morpheus.
There is no road. You will
walk in the kitchen for the last supper.
A scream in the throat
dies. I have no soul. The night
looms large. I will not surrender
my pen.
Unquenchable thirst
was me. My head in a spin,
I go beyond the words,
to find the clapping hands.
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 7:36:31 PM # 1.0.0.1119
