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Wounded And Alive
Folder:
Satish Verma In search of wholeness,
the words sit around me
cutting the edge of the corn ear.
A new shibboleth, will
announce the arrival of
a bloody tribe.
In this life cycle, I
will meet you, to kidnap
a Pir for remaining silent.
Who was on the road
to give a sane advice
to the waning roses?
It was not poemtime.
The kids were bleeding
from the barbs of unknown.
