SingularityA Poem by Satish VermaThe horses run like― tiny dots, on horizon, to
The horses run like―
tiny dots, on horizon, to meet inevitable. A celestial dance ensues for skulls uncapped to hear the echoes. How far was the house of god, where you will receive the revelation? My tribe was hurt. I cannot stand indeterminate end of the slaughter. © 2020 Satish Verma |
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