How would you talk to―
your unborn child, when lynching
mobs were waiting?
*
The insider was pure.
Still unknown to blood moon.
That was my other flesh.
*
Swallow all the darkness
of crying earth, I impel your
nails to scratch the sun.
- 
                        Author:    
     
	satishverma (
 Offline) - Published: November 30th, 2022 19:57
 - Category: Nature
 - Views: 7
 

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