Poetry

Your limbs tremble―
when you stand erect
to end the silence.

Nobody wants the clamor put to sleep.

It was a direct insult
of surgical kill.

When it was light, you start
covering yourself, caught in a vise.

Every dialogue was worth living.
You can only pray for the wrongs,
come to right.

A secret of tongue was
out. Ladders and snakes,
snakes and ladders, were not meant
for you.

The ambulances has always written the
letters― in reverse.