Almost reached.
Your tongue slips;
Then you fall.
The cyclone,
develops an eye, to hit.
You become blind.
An outcast―
became a star
in dark sky.
Why the elite,
of choice or exhibit-
wants to wear rags?
- Author: satishverma ( Offline)
- Published: October 24th, 2018 19:57
- Category: Nature
- Views: 8
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.