Looking back at self-portrait
was bewitching.
Self-abuse? Do you think
we should start preparing for a
holy murder?
Like bad sex, you hold
a blue thought and pick
up a fight with a radical dialogue.
If birds start leaving, what
you plan to do with contemporary
poetry.
In a locked room you left
your bloody footprints, sometime back.
Now you are caught with a
broken pen. Time was up. Hand
over your lips and become mute.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: May 28th, 2016 21:34
- Category: Nature
- Views: 40
Offline)
Comments1
"The misty moon has scattered your shadow over my cage
Watch how this drowned bird would turn into a passionate wave."
That's my poetic answer to your "Visualization"...
I like it.
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