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After lifting the fingerprints of bloodbath a bushfire starts, engulfing contradictions, the gulf between erosion of truth and survivors appears widening. Tiny ants smell blood, exfoliation begins, from nameless earth for the exodus of barefoot, the epic of tragedy, something in the debris is left for acetic reminder, a death reunion. The pain starts the saddest saga of human suffering, a salt lake melting in each eye and then in every courtroom the defence for the crimes, bail - out by the buried dark sniffing of fecundity. The night wraps me, the land of my birth haunts in its greenness, the wounded sea bids refugees to hostile shores, a cracked sun welcomes the lost umbical cords. SATISH VERMA

Copyright © | Year Posted 2010

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