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Poems :  Peace fot the Living People
Tags: Life  
 
A useless space between the sentences,
ghastly story does not end in black and white.
Again the heart cries.
I keep on knocking on the doors
and then return to blackness.

Sometimes people become insects.
Cockroaches, ants and spiders,
weaving their webs and hills,
crawling, creeping, clawing.
Flesh eaters. Pouncing upon hapless victims.

Depression. I am devastated.
Something churns in breast, dousing the spirit, lines and words.
Cannot sit quiet. Agoraphobia. Don’t want to talk
Somewhere a name crops up. Saint or beast.
Under the trees there is no shade. I walk barefoot.
Hungry dogs chasing the flies.
Humidity fills the eyes.

Silence of the night.
City has stopped running.
All the dead will speak now.
Not asking any revenge,
but peace for the living people.

Satish Verma



Satish Verma

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satishverma
Author satishverma
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Date 2012/9/7 4:29:49
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Recents
The Broken Statue
Ghostwriting
Pulsating Moods
Not A Banal Taste
The Mysterious Fire
Random
No Saviour
VOICES
DARKNESS AT NOON
PASSAGE TO UNKNOWN
LACERATIONS
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