16th December 2013 Poem by Satish Verma

16th December 2013

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Leaning against the shadow
of self, starting the
monologue. With the fall
I don't want to think of the other.

The beasts.
I give a call, to someone
over there,
who will listen.

A systematic peel, opens
the doorless cage and
sets free the malignancy―

to spread. Now multiple argan
failure, stares at you,
celebrating the anniversary
of the rape.

We are made up of
charcoal, writing on the walls
with dark fingers―
name of the victim.

Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Trupti garg 26 June 2018

Moving

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Trupti garg 26 June 2018

Moving

0 0 Reply
Gajanan Mishra 02 June 2016

writings on the wall with dark fingers..good one.

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