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Strange Morrow

On your face the shadow of a transparent wound
bungles the capricious climate
of the death of a thought which you could not
carry very far.

And that was all when I asked you some questions
about life. You started opening a beehive
of kills and subcutaneous pains.

How do you spell the happiness in beliefs and
starvation to achieve the resolution or incredible?
The mistrust between the cause and effect was
surfacing, though there was plenty

of solitude between the trees and cuckoo’s
calls.A crazy spell of silence in prayers
when we were very upset about our gods.

poem by Satish Verma
Added by Poetry Lover
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