I could not mediate.
God died in my home. Osho
was talking brazenly?
What you are, I
ask myself. The sleeping
moon knows my falls.
Who unmade the
beautiful dream of a
stricken angel's rise?
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: March 8th, 2024 00:58
- Category: Nature
- Views: 3
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.