When The Rains Stop Poem by Satish Verma
When The Rains Stop
Blast of horny
words comes from sideways.
It was your mind.
A hungry soul―
like a hawk, looks straight
in the eyes of a victim.
The bunch of clouds
make an areola around
your head. Were you crying?
The mushrooms grow
overnight on your lips.
At dawn, the steam
hurts my poems.
And I think, to
turn back to my chains,
to stitch again my gaze.
Sunday, December 23, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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8/21/2025 9:37:26 PM # 1.0.0
An excellent marvelous poem, Satish...............................