A Ripe Wound
A
Anil Kumar Panda
0
Altın Yaprak
My soul melts with
The rhythmic sound of cosmos..
Traces of its remains
Hangs heavy in minds of a few….
Birth of a refined soul
With a new body is just a trick…..
Sages of yore keep me
Engage with to make meaningless..
What I earn here going
Through much joy and sadness…
Dream remains a dream
For births that may happen or not….
Bu şiiri puanla
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