The horses run like―
tiny dots, on horizon, to
meet inevitable.
A celestial dance
ensues for skulls uncapped
to hear the echoes.
How far was the house
of god, where you will receive
the revelation?
My tribe was hurt. I
cannot stand indeterminate
end of the slaughter.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: November 23rd, 2019 21:32
- Category: Nature
- Views: 11
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.