Satish Verma
Ashamed
Afraid to ask, the white
fingers, to write a name on black paper.
The milky way.*Janus will
trap the light and open the doors.
War of words was not
going to stop. The alphabets do─
not pronounce well. The─
rape, the brutality, the mutilated death?
The mother tongue weeps.
The masks will write a history, in exile.
Throwing the coins? The
real face becomes a poem, lifting the wrists.
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