Last night
moon was following me
discreetly,
skirting behind the trees.
A white splendor
drips,
like a dropped coin
on poor’s hand.
Did you see the blood
on roses?
The petals were wounded
in rain.
Casual violence
spreads in the streets.
I write a very hurt
poem.
Satish Verma
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: August 11th, 2012 23:01
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
Offline)
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