Untitled Poem by Shivangi Mariam
Untitled
I see the sun setting between my legs,
its warmth descending
into the lips of the night.
The language of love-
and such have been her demands-
commands separation.
And so the lips part.
In a tight, calculated contraction.
My tiny lips part to swallow the sun.
The mouth is open wide
and inside,
the sun tastes the shadows
it cursed the day with.
Thank you for reading my words. I would be interested in knowing what title you would suggest. This poem came to me many nights back, with moon stinging my fingers, I wrote...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/10/2024 3:26:14 PM # 1.0.0.1119
both poems - your first 2 here - are very good ones. Thanks for sharing and keep on posting..
Thank you, Mr. Frosini! Your words are kind. There is no poem worth a martyr, a madman said once. And I add, there is no poem like mother's fingers which knead the daily bread, no words like the stars extinguishing in oblivion as the moon continues to shine...