Poetry Collection by Prabhat Verma
My poetry is not an opinion expressed. It is a song which either arises from a bleeding wound, or from a smiling face.


Why do I encounter the same milestone every time I walk down a new road?

Is it because the shape of earth is round?
Or is it because we live in a small world?
But yet the events repeat,
The same twists and turns
And the same fork on the road
Which still seems so familiar and yet so unknown.
Then I find myself on the same cross-roads
Which I crossed yesterday,
Choosing a path which I perhaps should not have taken.
Yet look at the great irony.
Today I choose the same path which I wrongly chose yesterday,
Fully convinced
That it is the right path to take
And yet with not an iota of doubt in my mind
That yesterday I made a blunder.


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