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Frozen
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Satish Verma After dousing the bride to a nice flame,
in between the howls
there were songs.
On mud path the hoofprints
came out prominently. On bullock carts
they had come for a sit in,
to resist, rebel or kill.
All day the heat, dust & winds
blurred the vision.
Hills between us
to feed the hate.
It is nothing like the good old earth.
The nascent bleed.
Time of non-movement.
Shadows of snow-peaks.
