God It Kills Poem by Satish Verma
God It Kills
Rating: ★5.0
Get to take call,
I will follow myself― and
open the old wound.
Of conscience.
The veins of leaves will knit
the face of a brute.
Ready to violate
November. The dilemma in
waves of lake rises.
How to pick cotton
flowers to celebrate snowfall.
We have reached moon.
Is that you, I
ask my poem, can you maintain
the purity of dawn?
Thursday, December 26, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/30/2024 10:20:52 PM # 1.0.0.1119
A poem that needs introspection! My favorite lines: Of conscience/The veins of leaves will knit/the face of a brute.......Appreciated....10