My Story Poem by Satish Verma
My Story
This was exotic.
A single drop throbs in space.
I walk on blades.
I think farther from―
The relics of disasters.
You love to read palms.
Talking of slaughter,
moon bled to death,
when you left in dark.
Tuesday, November 28, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/10/2024 5:40:53 PM # 1.0.0.1119
