Collecting The RelicsA Poem by Satish VermaCollecting The Relics
Predicted to fall.
Man battling against his demonic spirits. A killer silence becomes a knife. Slicing your thumb. You want to invoke the missing gods, sleeping under the dams. No one should bring me to tears. I disapprove the color of blood. My bones are becoming stronger, without flesh. I walk without legs on the hills of fog. Do not throw the acid on moon. Hands will do. You cannot pass through a ring of fire. Bonding fails. © 2020 Satish Verma |
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