No Ideas Poem by Satish Verma

No Ideas

It is obvious. In the
loss of meaning, hundreds of questions
arise. I have not remained me.

At all times, my
words scream. What has been
left behind? For one small thorn, I bleed.

Every noise appears
a foot drop. You were not coming O god,
no love reaches from the pain.

Sunday, July 23, 2023
Topic(s) of this poem: loss
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