The Pith Of Questions Poem by Satish Verma
The Pith Of Questions
I am sad, you cannot
walk with me in the search of the
door bell of a dead temple.
Terrible, it was fluorescent.
Shame some globes are turning dark.
You are cool and cannot stop.
You are going into yourself.
to meet the dying end. No immortality.
will save the melting Himalayas.
Sunday, June 25, 2023
Topic(s) of this poem: immortality
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8/18/2026 8:21:30 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
