Trashing The Skill Poem by Satish Verma
Trashing The Skill
Veneer was coming
off. Tribal fear to fore, am
trying to figure out.
From where the light will
come, between the pain and heart?
I will wait and watch.
After paying debts―
I will wake you up. When it
was my time to leave.
There was an anti―
hymn on my lips, when light went
out. End comes to play.
Sunday, April 23, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/26/2024 11:56:20 PM # 1.0.0.1119
