Moods Killed Poem by Satish Verma
Moods Killed
Wound sounds are deepening.
It should not be given any name.
I want to know who guides the dagger?
The troubled equations
will break daily. Religion turns black.
The cultivation wears masks..
How do I tell you. Life
was not treating the ruins
of love, when you look at the moon.
Tuesday, October 4, 2022
Topic(s) of this poem: moods
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8/27/2026 6:38:39 AM # rel_20260826T082754Z_99b456e
