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Trailing War

In search of peace the free hand was inflicting casualities. The kids were buried like insects in a rubble. Step by step in speculation the streets were livid with rustic murals of splintered blood on walls. The foxgloves had lobbed rockets on tall heads. Beleaguered eyes nailed to fire. I am watching you my art, to witness the agony of man. Burn,burn my cupped hands with snatched words. SATISH VERMA

Copyright © | Year Posted 2010




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