The native walls
were hounding me-
out of game.
I was playing chess with god.
Was stoned to death.
A small boy’s arm
was crushed.
He stole a bread.
What was the truism
of unheard voices?
Groping in green darkness
I was watching
the lethal plunge of man.
Satish Verma
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: March 8th, 2011 22:27
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
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