In Selfish Vein
What was the idea of charity,
when you were hiding
yourself from you?
Was it a non-existence?
Or you were writing an
unseen anthology?
Was that your kin choice
for a reciprocal pain,
inflicted in dark?
Between right and wrong
I am laying my wreath
on my grave.
poem by Satish Verma
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
