Seed MoneyA Poem by Satish VermaSeed Money
Standing on the roof
of world and searching god in sky. The ground reality appears, if you don't read the scripts. Only visible are faces and hands, which twitch and tremble, if you― forget to celebrate the death. Shrapnel's will remind you, what was certain. The obituaries are farce. This is self-adoration because you are alive. Buying curtains was cheaper than building a house. © 2021 Satish Verma |
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