Voiceless
Crisp and tight, a parallel voice
of black stars talks to sky, protesting
the presence of ultimate outsider, when
everybody was a partner of collective
guilt in nightscape.
What was the center of fight in elite
members ? The unhindered ego or claim
of bland crumbs of authority ? The innocents
so many, on streets, surrounding a red
smudge, liberty, watching her personification, who
sleeps here !
Whom it burns ? As the blood spurts
from the chest of a white stone.
SATISH VERMA
Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2011
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