Truism

Truism

A Poem by Satish Verma
"

Almost reached. Your tongue slips;

"
Almost reached. 
Your tongue slips; 
Then you fall. 

The cyclone, 
develops an eye, to hit. 
You become blind. 

An outcast― 
became a star 
in dark sky. 

Why the elite, 
of choice or exhibit― 
wants to wear rags?

© 2019 Satish Verma


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Added on July 26, 2019
Last Updated on July 26, 2019
Tags: tongue