Tender Rage

After the weep there was blankness, then he started playing with fire for existence, of a rain which refused to shower. It was a fierce night of a hidden drought. A lethal dose of amnesia dissipates the calmness of a hangman: waiting to cut the cord of resistence: moon will spy on the cold-blooded murder of a white ego. This was the aftermath of the soaring food prices of soul songs. People were mowing the tall grasses of dialects, sensing the wind, onslaught of gathering storm. Morning sky was pale and withdrawn, full of sorrow. The dignity calls for the last prayer for a lesser portrait ! SATISH VERMA