Poetry — 17 November 2017

A poem by Prem Geet.

Sanjiva drawing
Bullets fly backwards
to rest in the gun.

Fists raised in hate
are lowered to none.

Words spewed in rage
return to the tongue.

Held in awareness,
the moment undone.


Prem GeetPrem Geet is a regular contributor
Illustration: calligraphy by Sanjiva – sanjivamusic.com
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