The coming again―
of a submerged face
in silence. No black magic.

No dreaming, no moon.
We grieve together. How
many out fingers were lost?

Just like this I am
sure. It was not
any cognitive impairment.

I want to forget
myself. A revelation
has pulled me out from
burning pyre.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem

This Poems Story