Unspoken Poem by Satish Verma

Unspoken



It was not dark
in a killing field.
A primitivism has prevailed
upon an intimate hate crime
for brand mnemonics.

A bronzed moon
will come out tonight.
The glances were missing
and you -
cannot see properly.

The blue bird
was nesting in a pink cloud,
when you were -,
less than half. Killed
but not raped.

Who rattles the montage?
Let the etiolation speak.
Blood was scarped off,
but the ornamental stealing
goes on.

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