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Theme: Life Share This Page
Inverted
by Satish Verma
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  A tribal instinct stops the nemesis: 
Spraying the blood-soaked, small 
foot prints on my chest; 
unlocking, I accept 
myself. 

Why contained anger 
of awesome ache over the periphery? 
Through the atrophied, black limbs - 
an elite infusion of trespassing knowledge? 
The green adolescence was waiting in chains. 

The hoarseness as from a cyanosed throat 
after the sips of hemlock, the brave ascending 
of a gaint stroke on the cheeks of death; 
the dust will sing a farewell 
to a river of tears! 

End was not me on the chainsaw 
a chamomile will wipe the blemishes of the Grail.
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April 05, 2011
More By: Satish Verma
Views: 995      Comments: 0




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