Misdemeanor

A war was on, (psychological) to transgress the unwritten line. Me, stranded on the sands of time. Day after day shaven heads in protest erupt in fury. Firebrands join like ducks to water. In camera, you open the folds of mystery. As we start reading script, the wounds were mine, and you were the sounds. On the table, I put my eyes, ears and my father’s shoes. I come out in open, to take a shower of abuses. Satish Verma