You were tied
to weird questions,
since the saga began.
Praise your maker, look
how do I kill me, by
raising you― bit by bit?
I was riding a tiger.
In truth what was
not possible, when the
palace burned?
Who will explain
the intrigue,
the mystery of disappearance
when the eyes can
see through.
Small, too small
to make a hole in the heart
a piquant word,
which bleeds the poem.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: December 19th, 2021 19:58
- Category: Nature
- Views: 23
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments1
sheer Poetic, sublime
I'm in love!
with that last stanza..
how very kind of you
to choose to share
your poetic genius, Guru!
thank you
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