Prageeta Sharma Poems

It was just a momentary untruth in my way,
bodies of the crowd blocked the big blue outside.
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There's a structure for idiocy—lamplight—
all over the nation; it's an illumination
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After being humiliated one continues the manuscript of identity.
Activities, diseases, doldrums, the crony affair after the situation,
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It was not a romantic sentiment, nor self-determined; rather, it was embarrassing.
My love of spearheading, from introvert to extrovert,
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more so than we did before, but now we know what to do with them.
We hang our troubles on them and wipe our shoes against them.
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All this noisy commotion isolated a fairly
small universe of nothing special.
I had faced the assistant to the incumbent,
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Clatter into the window this late night.
We were flabbergasted, tired
of the newly-minted drunks and meth-kids
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I find ways to keep a sense of peace
but it is not always easy; for example,
I can't keep my questions tempered.
What kind of sun expounds its rays
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The forest service team came to my house to give me a thin-leafed tree,
and to say you can have something, if you wish.
You can have this native tree, a skinny branch, a skinny leaf
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Do not fall in love with a poet
they are no more honest than a stockbroker.
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