Nobody Weeps

On the street between the impeachment and castle a divine release was being enacted engaging the durable peace in seething winter. A somber black cloud of smoke was slowly reclaiming the sun. A disgraced militant was pounding his chest for not killing priceless bees who were initializing the flowers of Aden. The death was laid out in a row before the child was born. Dead prophets were watching from the eyes of dolls. SATISH VERMA