Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 12
The bonfire is lit warm,
It is comfortable as a quilt.

We look at the photos,
Inside of our wallets.

The parents, the wife and kids,
Probably for the last time we kiss.

Tomorrow is the final battle,
We make a treatise with death.

Either she takes the novice boys,
Or let us send them to her.
My HP Poem #1928
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl
Written by
Àŧùl  30/M/Kàrnál - Hàryáņá - Bháràŧ
(30/M/Kàrnál - Hàryáņá - Bháràŧ)   
334
   2
Please log in to view and add comments on poems