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.


In summers my journey started.
I left my roots behind.
Things I like and people I love.
Through treacherous winters I am going.
No one to help me if I lose a step or two.
Although I am drifting,
I would have liked to walk or swim instead.
I would have liked to drive instead of being driven.
Then I console my own self by pleading,
that everyone is driven at some point or the other.

The loss to win ratio is too high here.
Its dangerous preposition when you have everything to lose and nothing to gain.

This is just where fabrication steps in.
This is just where we all start seeing things our own way.

My right is your wrong and your wrong is my right,
When we are both wrong to the third person,

And right for the fourth. Just as people differ,
our choices differ too.

But I am among those unfortunate few who cannot even choose.


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