YOUR SPACE
Poetry
Unflappable
Unflinching I was
going to ask "Are you going to
break the bread with me?"
It was me. Contagious.
You were impaled. Making history
in this fractured era.
Bidding farewell to me,
money was polishing the pitch,
The only fire was generating the ash.
money was polishing the pitch,
The only fire was generating the ash.
Money is nothing but generates ash, not happiness in life. Well said, Satish jee.
Padma,
Hyderabad,
Jul 21, 2021
Author
Satish Verma
kantasatish@gmail.com, Ajmer
Jul 21, 2021