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Burning Them Alive
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Satish Verma Do you remember,
what did I ask you once?
You start melting―
the frozen, unspoken
words.
There was my prescient fear.
All you could do was―
opening the stitches.
The heart ache
remains. Eyes shut, you
assume― he shouts, rising
after the kill.
The red salt was
spread on old limbs which
would not carry the dead child.
Behind the wall
there was no sinister design.
