Every
evening
in
the Church
There comes
A Sinner
He sits
on the
the corner of the last bench
In silence
Neither
does he pray
Nor
confess
He
stares at the ceiling
Fixing his gaze at the
cob-web
He
keeps sitting
Even
after everyone else has left
When it turns dark
out
He
picks his blood soaked dusty robe
And
leaves
No comments:
Post a Comment