That Is Not What Is.

satishverma

Tell me why were you
hanging out with golden dust
in molten raw pain?

In secular grief,
I pray you to play the flute
like a reed in mud.

I will rise like the
possessed phoenix from the
burning city of reins.

  • Author: satishverma (Offline Offline)
  • Published: March 11th, 2022 19:30
  • Category: Nature
  • Views: 6


To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.