Right on top, you were inching slowly.
United in hate
they were tracking you.
Trespassing the epochs
you want to go back in stone age
to retrace the steps
of a homeless sapience.
In the brown desert of high hunches
you were treading haltingly
hounded by rivals,
utterly unethical.
You drew a circle
without a center,
readying for a guillotine.
Satish Verma
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