New Generation

One’s existence was threatened by the overseeing iguana like crested disguise. Repressive, explosive eyes. You are trapped in words beneath bewitching smile. The ‘V’ sign for violence becomes more obvious. That hits you in face. The eastern wind is blowing. Cold and chilly. An odyssey of massacre and blood bath. The mayhem of democratic jam. Fingers crossed, we wait for a miracle to happen. Someone turns back the tide and sharp knives are taken out from the flesh. A diminutive man wears giant shoes, prepares for a long jump. Donor of the egg was unknown surrogate mother was on price. SATISH VERMA