In cry of faith, I was trying
to maintain purity of hope.
Hope of an opening bud on the rose bush.
The slit eyes were frozen
unwilling to melt
the impenetrable dew.
The humility suffers
I am going to revert to lies
for the sake of foes.
Between the moments of peace
silence explodes,
trembling on the lips.
Death was alive in heart.
Weeping toes trace the primitive
path of birth,
scorched by prudence.
SATISH VERMA
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