There was no end
to looking inside.
I was crumbling.
Unnamed homing in
of anguish,
not knowing me.
The wasted questions
of revival.
A depleted dawn of a failed sun?
A river war
between two hills
for a moon?
Time to ask
motor neurons,
why night had failed at ending?
Satish Verma
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: February 11th, 2011 19:46
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
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