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Poems :  My Injured Self
Tags: Life  
 
In your big eyes
my mission ends.
I lower the flag to half-mast.

The steps were small
to follow the footprints
of the demise of an affair.

Embracing the words,
you had felt pampered by
the demigoddess
of broken hills.

The white muslin, weaves into a wreath;
would be laid on the unbuttoned secrets.

The night watchman
stands guard till the last
candle burns out.



Satish Verma

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satishverma
Author satishverma
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Date 2019/3/2 1:42:17
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License Creative Commons License
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Recents
Many Things
Getting Acclimated
Drawing A Circle
Beginning Of Voyage
It Happened Once
Random
Night Eye
Sheer Expanse Of Tragedy
BIRTH UNTAINTED
COLLECTIVE GUILT
LOCKED
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