Devastation
A
Anil Kumar Panda
0
Altın Yaprak
Bushes bow to bear
The brunt of the boots;
The satirical rope of destiny
Pull me to the edge of the garden;
Cumbersome creepers
Cringe within own embraces;
Thorns go flat at heads
Sucking blood from toes;
Wisps of smoke hang over
Soaked footpaths where
Burnt carcasses lie twisted
Like commas;
The God feels guilty
And hides in the craggy
Inside of a roadside temple.
Having lost His own game.
Bu şiiri puanla
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