Investing your hands
to write something unique―
the parrots flew out from
your lips. You will not mimic the beasts.
Avoiding taking sides, the
torture remains unexplained, but
we were always bleeding.
Between eyes and paper, words
float to land in haste. Faith
was ready to self-immolate.
It was not a political commentary.
Some poems really want to become poems.
Read my money. It cannot buy any death.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: April 22nd, 2019 19:58
- Category: Nature
- Views: 10
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.