Dying Screams

Shall we go like innocents with heavy breathing in the pool of blood to find the innerconnectivity of a boldly beautiful death ? In the open pit of an ancient gold mine ? There was a loss of hidden dance, in the cancer striken human chain, chiseled on the grey walls of history. The artifacts stolen, even the ankle-bells of a toddler had gone up for a sale. A visual oval gives a liable comment. A flame nauseates a baby doll. The yellow hornbill puts up a fight for the sake of memories. There is a huge silence of the rocks, moaning inwardly None of me was a god. A simple slum’s promised dream.Hungry roads will lead to a ruined temple. SATISH VERMA