Unwedded Poem by Satish Verma
Unwedded
In final journey, there
was a collective guilt.
To find an opus, I reach out
for a carbon pit.
It was not your grief
not my miracle. Collecting the
cadavers to sleep with―
for warmth.
Ashes, you poke at the
art. Except self-elevation
and grandiosity, what to discover
in the heap of refuse?
You start nibbling at your
clothes. The scream melts at
the stitchs. Style wavers,
you become naked.
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 4:17:43 PM # 1.0.0.1119
