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Author Name: Freesatishverma 2 Comments
Date Added: July 19, 2012 23:07:07 Average Score: (Needs 2)
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Type: Unspecified
Category: Inspirational Add To Favorites | Text Only
Ahead of pain, we did not cry;
intimating of dreams, crowded;
stranded on issues, reaching nowhere.

Black, a weired hairdo, unfurls a moon
in half-sleep. You can open the door
without sound. The snake writhes under your feet.

A traveler waits for a hymn, holds a green
urn, full of tiny eyes, looks at sky and returns
the darkness for any possibility of light.

The missile whistles down; hushed, gnarled
fingers start the rescue efforts in a lonely
cosmos; goldilocks starts howling.

Terror strikes again in offering, so far
about nothingness; a vague, masked scapegoat
sits in bold greens, to start the beginning of end.

Satish Verma
Author's Notes:
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Comment By: FreeLady Dragonwyck on July 20, 2012 10:04:42 AM Report
Sir: enjoyed this write.  I always check for a poem from you daily and read and try to wrap my thoughts into the correct mode. 

Lady D

Comment By: FreeGraham Jones on July 20, 2012 03:36:06 AM Report
Frankly sir I fail to see the connection for or against deportation in this piece, interesting as it may be it would appear to be fragmented ramblings,I don't know why I'm even commenting on this as you have never to my knowledge even commented on anyone else poetry or even bothered to acknowledge a reply to a comment you are neither deaf dumb impaired or stupid as far as I can deduce so why are you bothering at all to publish on what is clearly a feed back site, feedback being the operative word,obviously you need to take a long hard look at yourself and say what am I contributing to this site? I for one would like to see the answer if you would be good enought to do so~Graham.


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