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.


The wave of death has rocked us,
To our very bones it has shocked us,
Oh mother nature are we your slaves?
Millions sleep in watery graves.

Screaming mother over bodies of their young,
As horrific song of death is sung,
A battle for survival again is fought,
And thousands of bodies decay and rot.

Such are the scenes of mourning and shock
Tears flow from hearts like rock
To help them should we not try?
These scenes made even vultures cry.

To help them is our moral duty,
To restore life in all its lost beauty,
Our morality has been put to the test,
Don't wait for anyone, just do your best.



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