satishverma

Blue Games

Category: /General/
(82 views)
Like
0
I think not,
I am. Still blindfolded
carrying the rusted shovel
on my shoulder.

The old rage
refuses to die. What is that gene
which makes you shudder?
And you lie like a beached whale!

The eccentric words
wrap you up again and embrace
the moon for taking revenge.

Very little arsenal
was left in my blue-veined
arms. Nobody wins in our
daily war.

Some hidden wounds will
surfaces at night. I
come out in dark, cruising
the lanes to find my poem.

Favorite Favorite  Comment Comment  Share Share

Close

Copy Link and Share



Report an item by sharing it with support.
© individual authors and creators. Create, Share and Profit at etastic.com.

Add a Comment

Enter your comment and submit

© Copyright etastic and individual authors. All Rights Reserved.

Edit Comment

Edit your comment and submit

© Copyright etastic and individual authors. All Rights Reserved.