Another tear rolled down, on time's cheek.
It was not meant to be
like this. Undaunted,
you open the fire towards the moon.
In your madness―
there was a discipline.
A psychological withdrawal―
from the nesting niche.
Believe me― it was not a fake,
I will not reclaim my gifts.
Lesser known was the
spiritual inadequacy.
The hawk will not come to land.
Death― be not a child.
Breathing is slowing down.
I will wait for the sunset.
- Author: satishverma ( Offline)
- Published: March 24th, 2020 20:18
- Category: Nature
- Views: 7
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.