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Slaughtered Dreams

It rained last night, dampness giving a tumultuous pleasure the day before, town was burning. Weeping ashoka laden with smudges, and sky was crimson red, You could not avoid this heat and dust, love and hate; sharing the cooling winds. The patterns are changing, what to redeem, what not. Trampled by death everywhere, frightened words go for a dignified fall. We are trading our bruises for moorings. A happy notebook is blasted, and motif goes into exile. World moves in circle it will touch you again A strange divinity puts you in oblivion. The spirit walks some steps with you, and then disappears. My grass burns in front of me. This had been a festival of slaughtered dreams. Satish Verma

Copyright © | Year Posted 2008




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