They were burned alive.
Most cherished to me,
betraying the functionality of a system,
interstitial asphyxiation took place.
In the garb of a garlanded saint
a gun booms.
The death is rolled from tongue to tongue.
flying limbs get strung on trees.
A faith was in flames,
somebody leapt from the inferno
with folded hands, to melt into a stone
reaching nowhere.
Non-particles were becoming visible
parting the sky.
Nostalgia was possessed with belief of non-believers,
a thought without a thinker.
I am taking liberty, O God
give me something to live!
Satish Verma
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