A Poem by Satish Verma

On the run, was a bon viveur-

On the run,
was a bon viveur-
in amber thoughts.

I start unknowing you-
O invisible. A curse
will follow if you make me
a god.

I plead, standing
on the rubble, I will not learn
to live without the muse.

Sometimes you disappear
unshorn, in the rain forest-
of stunning phrases.

I hold,
the existence of a ghost.
Undying for the sake of
forced acceptance.

That was the art of inevitability.

© 2020 Satish Verma

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Added on June 6, 2020
Last Updated on June 6, 2020
Tags: viveur

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