To become insane,
I think. I miss the ruptured
wounds.
I ask myself,
was it true, you
were painting water body?
Somebody was
laughing after the funeral
of raped truth.
The bells go
without sound. I hold
my trembling hands.
The door knob was
broken. I cannot open the
portal of dreams.
A lone swan treads
softly on the smashed mirror
to reach the lake.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: December 14th, 2023 20:11
- Category: Nature
- Views: 1
Offline)
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