In a shroud of mist,
the fullness of thoughts shivers.
Don't give me any quiz.
Inpoisoned angst,
I climb a tree of inquiry.
There were no answers.
You come prudently on
toes to catch the ripples of
the transient questions.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: March 20th, 2022 19:40
- Category: Nature
- Views: 8
- User favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek.
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