satishverma
Carrying Scars
Category: /General/
(836 views)
0
The prediction goes awry. 
I wipe away an exotic
smudge on the paper.
I was trying to fight
venom of adverbs and
adjectives.
I want to retrieve my
poem, as it was― before
the digital onslaught of beheadings.
Give me my garden room,
baby moon and spotless
needles. My blood was blind.
I would come again in
my burial mode, when
your trenches are ready.
Favorite Favorite Comment Comment Share Share
Report an item by sharing it with support.
© individual authors and creators. Create, Share and Profit at etastic.com.