Awareness

There was a pithy art on velvety rock. The turban was flying churning out the outrage. No sanitized verse was needed to explain xenophobia. We were white tigers. Lurking behind the moon was a lute, with broken strings. A sluice opens the grief of sky. Show me your palm with full of curses. Where do you want to leave the prints of death ? Alphabets were counting the steps, towards non-center. The boundaries were collapsing. Satish Verma