Love In Original

After a soot rain the grey fear moved centripetally, seeking centrum; thoughts, saffron colored, in the words went mute. You were still searching the head, of a nameless torso, in a heap of your failures. The river had run dry. Why were you trying to revise the script of anthem after the man made inferno ? A mushroom cloud was heading this way. Ah, the prickly lips still eject the same agenda for dualism, now the yellow metal was nickel-plated. Outside the stoic redemption falls the reality. Man had become a crypt on a grave of less guilty. Satish Verma