BLEEDING

A stammer bites the tongue 
of hundreds of years. 
Beyond the page lies the blood. 
An outrage of a metaphor, 
a blast in a bowl, 
words are getting mutilated. 
An unquiet love draws the river 
to drown the sacrifices of parched land. 
Sands will bring out the beautiful 
property of a trademark. 

There is no shadow between the cannons 
My feet are not touching the peels.

Satish Verma