Unasked
Right on top, you were inching slowly.
United in hate
they were tracking you.
Trespassing the epochs
you want to go back in stone age
to retrace the steps
of a homeless sapience.
In the brown desert of high hunches
you were treading haltingly
hounded by rivals,
utterly unethical.
You drew a circle
without a center,
readying for a guillotine.
SATISH VERMA
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