Scything

Why did your hand become the fist ? You were thinking about the indignities heaped upon the lake, when you were retrieving a song of freedom from the depth of questions. There was no capitulation. You went on opening the congealed- blobs of blood to know the keynote of violence. The sectarian hate. It outlives the love of brotherhood. You want to go back to, from where the jungle starts. It had swept away the snow-white young peaks. Footprints of some movement. Can you see that ? Satish Verma