Unhitching
You come home,
to a genocide of sperms.
A storm was brewing
to implode;
cloning a wooly origami.
What was the philosophy
of living indefinitely?
Silence was the biggest
noise of spoons.
You were not entitled
to inherit the state,
kissing the trophy of a
beggared man.
Detachment with
upholstery might work.
Take a candle and
read the name on the
black wall.
poem by Satish Verma
Added by Poetry Lover
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