The fleshless hands
lift the obscene violence of man
for life after.
The vacant eyes
will search for the keys
to open the sea
of blood,
faltering on umbrella of
imitation rain of democracy.
Age reaches the wolf’s den
I am sitting under the clouds.
Bullets are pouring.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: July 24th, 2015 22:32
- Category: Nature
- Views: 13
Offline)
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