The Road Poem by Satish Verma
The Road
He has been spoken off.
Sometimes I feel,
it is time to go.
Sun is preparing to depart.
After sometime moon will arrive.
You want to stop writing
and shut the book. Enough.
All things said, world will go on its way.
You change the clothes,
alter the sex,
exchange the god,
and refuse to die.
Nothing, but the dirty game survives.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/5/2024 1:39:05 AM # 1.0.0.1119
