Thoughts―
were not picking the words.
This was ultimate loss.
How do I stave
off the disaster? You
were taking away my smiles.
What kind it would be
the next quake, when
I was standing at the door.
I have yet to
know myself, searching for
the invisible truth.
Cannot drop the―
pen. The eyes will read
the last sermon.
- Author: satishverma ( Offline)
- Published: November 17th, 2023 19:44
- Category: Nature
- Views: 3
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.