Just a sip on verge, 
man was eating a mountain, 
forgetting carnations. 
A peacock sits on the belly 
of a torchbearer 
for a credible crime. 
One Buddha fails today. 
Turns around 
and goes back to his princess. 
Give me blood money 
to kill myself 
for sitting under a bo tree. 
I do not seek any bliss, do not need any home. 
The stoker will not stop hurling the insults.
- 
                        Author:    
     
	satishverma ( Offline) Offline)
- Published: July 30th, 2015 22:41
- Category: Nature
- Views: 14

 Offline)
 Offline)


 
                      
			
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.