Listening to green voice―
genderlessly,
I anoint the beautiful death.
Stream of consciousness slides
on shell of faith.
You disturb the pattern of life.
The core question was,
who did not hunt
with brutality, the lost horizon?
I become radical
in captivity. But the exit
was inside me.
Through the small window
I will catch the baby sun
to become my muse.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: August 17th, 2019 19:54
- Category: Nature
- Views: 5
Offline)
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