Listening To Rwanda Genocide

In your azure eyes I was teaching myself: how to drown. What a nodal agency to receive the award. The ailing moon will not come to my rescue. The seized cloud had failed to cry – embarrassing the sidewalks. An unfathomable legend. A bloated name becomes the mother of rapes. At stake were all the crutches. The tribal stain had a stark reality. The basic instinct, walks home to stand on the mount of bones. Satish Verma