I touch the timber
and smell my hands. Jacarandas
have solemnity.
Will walk on the blue
trumpets, to start talkathon
with soul of the tree.
Why we are born to die?
Can you stop this cycle? Tell me
the truth of the road.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: October 3rd, 2023 20:19
- Category: Nature
- Views: 0
- Users favorite of this poem: Soman Ragavan
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Comments1
We are having similar thoughts.
I only know of the promises.
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