White ShroudsA Poem by Satish VermaThe lips will speak without sound.
The lips will speak
without sound. A tuliped man hangs himself down, from a tall tree of fame. You wanted to live in the― glare of slit throats. The blood brings the brilliant glitter of gold. End of the speech will― throw up a mascot. The noose was tightening around the― rising― glorious sun. Slavery never ends. You become victim of your dazzling peaks, when you stand alone at unthinkable heights. The spirit of the tree dies in your eyes. © 2020 Satish Verma |
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