23 listopada 2013
UNRAVELLING
An outcast, stripped and beaten
up, the sickle moon
smears the clouds with blood.
I hate to wait for –
the sun to undo this mess,
an ethnic mutilation will bring a chaos.
Nursing the peripheries,
tribes were in pursuit of bayonets;
will not surrender the arms
to mate.Unceasingly they are
digging up an abysmal grave
to throw in the truths in uniform-
in pursuit of feathers, offering
for temple archways, turning
on the future, for past glory!
Satish Verma
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dobrosław77
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ajw
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sam53
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Bezka
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ajw
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ajw
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Misiek
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Marek Jastrząb
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wolnyduch
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wolnyduch