Speaking StonesA Poem by Satish VermaWhen there was a cloudburst― it was time― I thought
When there was a cloudburst―
it was time― I thought for the soul search. Again I turn back to― our complexity, in religion, caste and lineage. The prairie was giving― way, for a volcano to erupt. Can there be a drive from the back seat? A prisoner of one's own follies, you would wait till― the sky comes down and liberates you. The illegitimacy bursts open, when you claim that no child was left behind. © 2016 Satish Verma |
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