Stoking
Just a sip on verge,
man was eating a mountain,
forgetting carnations.
A peacock sits on the belly
of a torchbearer
for a credible crime.
One Buddha fails today.
Turns around
and goes back to his princess.
Give me blood money
to kill myself
for sitting under a bo tree.
I do not seek any bliss, do not need any home.
The stoker will not stop hurling the insults.
poem by Satish Verma
Added by Poetry Lover
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