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I watch the past crushed
and fake saints rising to reign
exalt cunningness
envision deceit to prosper
a ram rigs the folk
with iron teeth and speaking horns
from the Ganga's bank
immigrant hope and waiting
pushes west, north, east
and southward for net-breaking
new resurrection
beyond the brimming nowhere
I hear the dead dying
angels groaning in the trees
my unscarred body
feels the hand that's blade and guard
ends me like full stop
New waves of terror rise high
the book is opened
but where is the seeing eye? |
