Om Shanti Poem by Satish Verma
Om Shanti
Crude handling. The matter,
The substance. Pain is same. Things
are slipping out of hands.
You are walking away.
To defer your sympathy, love boils.
Right spellings have wrong words.
You put the tears back
in your eyes. Drifting aimlessly. Your
existence was for carnivores.
Friday, December 16, 2022
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4/27/2024 5:19:48 PM # 1.0.0.1119
