Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2017
Almost reached.
Your tongue slips;
Then you fall.

The cyclone,
develops an eye, to hit.
You become blind.

An outcast―
became a star
in dark sky.

Why the elite,
of choice or exhibit―
wants to wear rags?
Written by
Satsih Verma
132
   TSPoetry
Please log in to view and add comments on poems