How much you were honest
with you?
The poems had singed
the eyebrows. I am filled
with salt.
Would you know what was
missing between the lines?
Afterlife will not bother me.
My image and me
will not superimpose.
An apology for extradition
of my agony. Trapped, my
mirror has broken. I
will tear off the moon
from the window, when the room
is dark.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: October 10th, 2018 19:03
- Category: Nature
- Views: 11
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.