My TruceA Poem by Satish VermaWithout trying to become an avenger,
Without trying to become
an avenger, you were trying to find the― joy of primitive faith. The dignity of terror has to be modified. You were now afraid of― yourself in the crowd. This thing had a dark tone, when you cross the street. Underneath, the seed vessels of past pain, were ready to split open. The bandits wait on the line of control. The shock comes out in open. Society is generous, accepts your blood. © 2018 Satish Verma |
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