Memes

satishverma

After euthanasia,
I was conversing with a ghost.

Foam-born, he
wanted to shrink in a ring.

To cause harm―
a knife, apologizes,
for playing with fire.

That is the life,
of a mortal― to keep his
god, as a prisoner
of books.

And yet, you are called
a great warrior of words.

In your prime flight,
when the sun is setting,
you want to drop dead
like a sparrow, on eternal greenness
of silence.

The horses run in full alacrity.

  • Author: satishverma (Offline Offline)
  • Published: December 3rd, 2019 19:06
  • Category: Nature
  • Views: 13
  • Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻
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