The Tear Of Things
The panther goes for the neck only.
A body trembles on the stairs.
Scarred bones are strewn around in
the broad day light.
I sometimes hear a wailing sound.
Here lies the scarf, the coat, the shoes.
A nation is rambling in dark
woods. Faces have become stones.
No longer, the illustrious suffering will help.
How to judge the verdict?
Defence is proving the guilt,
and desert shouts a single
name.
How many meanings should be thrown
for one answer?
The tears. Are they not sufficient
to give the depth of immensity?
poem by Satish Verma
Added by Poetry Lover
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