You recite my old poems―
to understand the psyche
of human conflicts.
The long shadows won't leave
the fingerprints.
Between mind and soul
breathes a language
understood only by emotions.
I shiver when you
mime the real money. I go into
coma, to cross the
river of blues.
Future is pain.
Past was crime. In some god―
night I will write my swan song.
The life's many scripts
will remain unread
buried in the folds of sands.
- Author: satishverma ( Offline)
- Published: January 10th, 2021 21:45
- Category: Nature
- Views: 19
- Users favorite of this poem: arobot
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