Unstitching

Do not take a vow of silence.
Death will find its home.

The circus has taken over
the needles.Who will stitch

the wounds of earth. A man
walks into sunset carrying

a bowl of tears. The sit-in
was going to resist a poem

of life. Would you unrobe
your identity in public one day?

Always I am punctuated at night
by a yellow moon standing

in my window. A nude goddess
is going to mourn the death of a thought.

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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