Praise My Stones Poem by Satish Verma
Praise My Stones
Where do I go
to ask for death. It is very cheap.
Honey, honey - do not go to bees.
What is the pain of
price, if you have empty hands?
Life always punctures the bubble.
And kiss the sun
to punish the moon. So cool that frozen
heart, that it does not leak blood.
Saturday, April 27, 2024
Topic(s) of this poem: Life
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5/11/2024 1:30:00 PM # 1.0.0.1119
