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Misdemeanor
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Satish Verma A war was on,
(psychological)
to transgress the unwritten line.
Me, stranded on the
sands of time.
Day after day
shaven heads in protest
erupt in fury.
Firebrands join like
ducks to water.
In camera, you
open the folds of mystery.
As we start reading script,
the wounds were mine,
and you were the sounds.
On the table, I put my
eyes, ears and my
father's shoes. I come
out in open, to take
a shower of abuses.
