harsh sagi

Rookie (12/04/1983 / india)

Life Of Death - Poem by harsh sagi

The pasteurs green,
a tillers bread;
have long become barren.

The mountains white,
a delight to eyes;
have been tinted crimson.

The waters calm,
a peace to the soul;
are now turbulent.

The air pure,
life of the valley;
stinks now - of Death.

The paradise on earth,
has been turned into,
a graveyard of bliss.


Comments about Life Of Death by harsh sagi

  • (7/20/2007 4:04:00 AM)


    bliss isn't the word...think of some other word...is there really any bliss in the graveyard of kashmir, the kind of bliss one normally associates with death? how about 'fright? ' 'for terror? ' think... (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, July 19, 2007

Poem Edited: Tuesday, March 22, 2011


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