For honour killing
twilight adulates an abstract faith.
Tainted?
Now that mouth was shut
and butterfly was pinned,
will you grow the marigolds?
The empty book was not breathing
in a crowd of words.
The bitter meaning had flown away.
The mountain will cry now
in the absence of birds.
Trees were shedding their leaves.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: December 24th, 2011 22:59
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
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