New Version

even vultures will not devour the proffered war time victims, ruined was the impression of untitled sacrifice, a wild anemone slips into the river of blood, I tend to forget the faces of embers – arson by apostles of peace, it has become a commodity, oppression releases a promise for optic illusion through large-prints a near miss when the truth chokes to death, suicidal full of nerves- the hills tremble in anticipation, lambs were dropping dead on a green patch such obligation SATISH VERMA