End GameA Poem by Satish VermaEnd Game
I would dream every night.
Are you there among the crushing artifacts? The ruins― had entered into my bones. The erosion demands the price of tomorrow. Make it easy the severance of my right arm. Blood does not frighten me. It was donated. I have frozen fears. I cannot touch you. Not in day light. Darkness will carry my poems to you. Blank papers will weep for unwritten end of the naked truths. Plasma will dry up. There is no bone marrow to be investigated for graft. © 2021 Satish Verma |
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