How Many TimesA Poem by Satish VermaSitting at a funeral; in ashes, you search-
Sitting at a funeral;
in ashes, you search- the faces of dead. To shut down the apostrophes. How far was your home, you don’t want to go back? A black moon invites the tallest flare- of the sun. Bright death will ask no compensation. You can travel over half- memories of frozen pain. Hourglass to Kundo clocks, you were collecting all the souvenirs to stall the translations from coast to coast. © 2017 Satish Verma |
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