Satish Verma
Crumbling Down
Can you understand
the agony of a titan, which
cannot afford to show its fall?
Missing the defeat―
no one was victorious.
Battle cry was a phantom.
The questions, that were
fluttering in a storm―
had become the sufi fakirs.
It was a dirty stricture.
The colors had stopped flowing.
Even the death has lost its terror.
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