Survival Of Fittest Poem by Satish Verma
Survival Of Fittest
I cannot catch your smell.
Time stands in my hands. There
was a question to kiss jasmine.
Did you send me a farewell
address? A quiet warrant? No
I cannot sleep on your tongue.
Why life leaves a bitter
taste daily. When I salute the
setting sun, it rains.
Thursday, July 30, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/2/2024 3:38:46 PM # 1.0.0.1119
