Phobia. As it occurred.
Earth was being spread
on the tryst of man.
You won't learn the
life, wearing the veil of death.
That will ditch the destiny.
It was a big question. How to meet you?
One's own beginning was
transient. You will always
imagine the end.
How wrong world was,
when you were stigmatized
for saving the poems?
Give me your fist not the hand.
At least I am not going to be perished.
Long live the Homo.
- Author: satishverma ( Offline)
- Published: October 2nd, 2019 19:22
- Category: Nature
- Views: 84
- Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.