Wounded Dance

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Satish Verma

A rock becomes a philosopher. 
Refuses to move 
looking at the stars. 

Rogue shirts were walking 
on the clouds of unknowing. 
I wanted to remove all the clocks. 

Who was stealing the water? 
Secret of life? Impiety had 
undone the pillars of random love. 

Ashes volcanic or of tears enter 
the pores of consciousness. 
The screams wake up the dark blood. 

A naked doll pelts the grey eyes 
on the blood sucking story. 
A dark tunnel opens in street.

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