To The Destiny Poem by Satish Verma
To The Destiny
Turning a monologue
into a hymn
when you take a fall.
The random truth
in flesh and bones.
Not me, not you.
It was grace
to become a fakir
without your gods.
The dead bovine
gives its skin, so that
you can walk on mud.
A shadow changes into
a Buddha, when you
refuse to die.
Taken for ungranted I will
become an argument for half-clads.
Wednesday, July 12, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/9/2024 1:57:41 PM # 1.0.0.1119
