Life Of Death Poem by harsh sagi
Life Of Death
Rating: ★2.6
The pasteurs green,
a tillers bread;
have long become barren.
The mountains white,
a delight to eyes;
have been tinted crimson.
The waters calm,
a peace to the soul;
are now turbulent.
The air pure,
life of the valley;
stinks now - of Death.
The paradise on earth,
has been turned into,
a graveyard of bliss.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
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5/2/2024 1:28:03 PM # 1.0.0.1119
bliss isn't the word...think of some other word...is there really any bliss in the graveyard of kashmir, the kind of bliss one normally associates with death? how about 'fright? ' 'for terror? ' think...