A Wall Painting

Imperishable, 
you keep the truth frozen 
like the marrow, in the limbs of life, 
producing blood cells 
when sun rises. 

Knocking again 
at a rapist door 
to leak the secrets of a hidden bed 
of polity. 

Contours of a dimmed 
tunnel. 

The times; Oh, the tongues 
were tasting the peels of aorta.

Satish Verma