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Today, small things ask some uncomfortable questions. I enter the eye of a wound. Unscathed, will i obey the law of believing ; the round mirror? It reflects the absolute truth? Consolations, they begin the attack in the valley of thoughts ; words, were hung over the paper, spill the ink like blood on the street. Who will lift the corpse? Words on the wings ; let them drop like stones, like knives. The flesh is raw, bones white a century is going to sing. SATISH VERMA

Copyright © | Year Posted 2009




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things