Not True Poem by Satish Verma
Not True
A pigeon
flutters, in my frail―
chest, ready to fly away.
The train does
not stop here. Why
do I keep standing?
A man dies in
a blizzard. You
need to pay for it?
What was the
hallucination? I
was living for a lie?
Sunday, November 20, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/6/2024 9:54:26 AM # 1.0.0.1119
