You are not
on my page.
No more in my abstract sleep.
Cease-fire
will not be declared-
in the realm of dark dreams.
There was
one tear at a time.
No battle cry.
Trampling on
the old reminiscences,
a tiger jumps on the author-
of mangrove.
The aerial roots have
stopped breathing.
Your lungs become
a flute. A war song frightens
the death.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: November 8th, 2016 22:43
- Category: Nature
- Views: 36
Offline)
Comments1
I take it that you are not inviting this person to stay. Provoking.
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