The Middle Ground Poem by Satish Verma
The Middle Ground
I try to think,
not to think of you;
cede hope to candor.
You will not contribute,
to your own rape, of truth;
rediscovering the shame.
The modesty will not sit
on the stigmata.
Moths were becoming defiant.
Copiously drenched,
under the wet moon,
a poem will seek a title.
It returns back, the
kiss, you sent for the flame.
It was very hot, the farewell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 10:46:51 AM # 1.0.0.1119
