savage was the bond of weakness;
we were hiding behind the pain
of decline, abdicating the singed shrine
of nameless opposition, nowhere the roots
were reaching the bottom of truth, I ran
like river of life amongst the flames, you try to
resuserstate a dozing century by burning
poems, every wen fighting the jinx,
counting the tiny deaths
give me your locked secrets of fire
let me face the cold-blooded murder
in caldron of dead lips
Satish Verma
No comments:
Post a Comment