The Glass House
Not yet, the courage will wait
for the curtain to fall,
will then disappear in awakening;
the crucial thing
was the love of absence
the scythe of eclipsed moon.
Suspense hangs from the tall image
in slow turn of thighs
lips reach the galaxies:
the first cry of new born
pleads guilty,
whispers will never be the same.
My fault, the animal’s feet
carry the burden of the straw,
words brought the grief.
In a triangular fight
my son, my god, my father:
I stand in the center!
poem by Satish Verma
Added by Poetry Lover
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