Disturbed Age
The odor brings the
neo-violence, along the fault line.
Standing on the road.
You,
do not want to go right, or left.
Chemoreceptors will warn about
the incoming quake.
They will crush the blooms, the
corrupt winds.
The landscape was changing.
The unlikeness, when you come
back from woods.
You do not mean anything.
Words don’t convey the full meaning.
The thoughts will find a poem.
Satish Verma
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