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.

Only the dying have the
Courage to face death and
Look at it in the eye to
Day “take me for I
renounce life” just because
they are short of time,
too early to be late
and too late to be
early enough to escape fate.
The songs of loneliness and the
voice of silence is what you
would find flipping through
the pages. But no noise reaches
the ears of the deaf

They say that the pen
speaks the language of
the mind, and the words
carved on paper are the
true reflection of the
writer. If this is true,
then I must admit that
I have as many faces as
there are pages in this
spiral pad. Each page and
each poem is a true
reflection of one of my
face, evil or good, sad
or bright, it is for
you the reader, to decide.

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