In last breath,
when the door remained
open, you walked out.
Accepting the truth
was my fault.
Everything was not true.
After a death
there was no other dying.
Thoughts were deathless.
A self-portrait
would be not simple,
you were watching.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: March 18th, 2019 20:08
- Category: Nature
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻
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