Scissor HoldA Poem by Satish VermaI don't want any applause. Think. think on
I don't want any applause.
Think. think on what I have to say. The morgue is full. Still the bodies were arriving, of all the dead innocents. The son, daughter, mother and father and grands. What rituals you want to do― to honour the departed, or praise the killers? The rigged notes on paper speak of mendacity. Between the primates, man was becoming the beast. The stone, sculptor and ghost are one. © 2019 Satish VermaReviews
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1 Review Added on June 30, 2019 Last Updated on June 30, 2019 |

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