satishverma
Becoming Strangers
Category: /General/
(409 views)
0
I was rearranging 
the things, in order
as if I will come back.
Ah! Life has
lynched my poems. I
feel― I cannot write
something beautiful.
A frenzied mob
calculates your height
and starts stoning at
an erect totem.
The hardened rocks were
melting without fire
to submerge you and your
castle made of clay.
At sunset-point you
reach to stand in twilight
to morph into an alien!
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.