Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2017
It was not ending, not beginning
this fracas,
to search the exit.
Where to go where to.

The window
has jumped out
from the moon. what was
your ultimate? What was?

The cold-blooded
creepy object
discharging the virulent
flames virulent.

Migratory ink
always lands on the
paper, would not
move the words would not.
Written by
Satsih Verma
145
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems