Where Are Questions? Poem by Satish Verma
Where Are Questions?
It stinks. Man's nature.
I don't know myself. What I think
is the fall of leaves every year.
To the fire, I have
nothing to say. It burns every
thing to create a new life.
The walls are still
coming up between the thoughts.
Everyone deceives oneself to be happy.
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4/29/2024 11:46:51 AM # 1.0.0.1119
