Habit Of Dying Poem by Satish Verma
Habit Of Dying
Rating: ★5.0
Pardon my poems.
Becoming you I get the pain, raising
the blues. I ask who was the son of god?
Were you real? I
am sifting the words to appreciate
suiciding not by flagellation.
The traditions swipe the
dust. Why did I stand in domino?
O death, don't come to kiss me pink.
Wednesday, February 3, 2021
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5/3/2024 6:23:16 AM # 1.0.0.1119
O death, don't come to kiss me pink......wonderful. A brilliant poem!