Not TrueA Poem by Satish VermaA pigeon flutters, in my frail―
A pigeon
flutters, in my frail― chest, ready to fly away. The train does not stop here. Why do I keep standing? A man dies in a blizzard. You need to pay for it? What was the hallucination? I was living for a lie? © 2019 Satish Verma |
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