A Sick Uncertainty

Rhetoric had a theme like crab-grass to destroy the lawn. Fly ash had submerged the legacy of sane lips. The river drifts between the broken walls of binge soaring. Tension was descending in the lanterns who were flickering hopelessly. Was there any need of autopsy of dark secrets ? The terror burns the bed. You don’t get a wink of sleep. Between bubble and sky, wrapped up afterlife aches. You wear the blindness, then slide in grey fog. The hypocrisy and violence will wolk side by side. Do not touch the leftovers. A vulgarity of expansion ! Step aside from the continuum. I will wait for you. SATISH VERMA