Oceanic Art Poem by Satish Verma
Oceanic Art
A silent vigil was on,
for sun, which was getting
ready, to pass on the baton,
to sleeping moon in a winter storm.
In frigid cold, I walk in
snow to cut the greens.
Needles poke my arms to taste
the blood of a kiss.
The ironic curl, moves
a sin. Won't you celebrate
the white death with me?
I ask this question to myself.
A kingfisher dives in a
desert stream, for a spiritual kill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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6/13/2025 11:26:24 AM # 1.0.0
