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Bleeding
Folder:
Satish Verma A stammer bites the tongue
of hundreds of years.
Beyond the page lies the blood.
An outrage of a metaphor,
a blast in a bowl,
words are getting mutilated.
An unquiet love draws the river
to drown the sacrifices of parched land.
Sands will bring out the beautiful
property of a trademark.
There is no shadow between the cannons
My feet are not touching the peels.
