Baby's Steps Poem by Satish Verma
Baby's Steps
If there was nothing
to chance at, we will not quit.
I won't see your hands.
*
Pulverized faith
seeks a new name to survive.
Prophets are dead.
*
Would you bow down
to collect the dust falling from
tresses of goddess?
Monday, August 20, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/10/2024 9:34:05 PM # 1.0.0.1119
