Whispering Sparrows
The native walls
were hounding me-
out of game.
I was playing chess with god.
Was stoned to death.
A small boy’s arm
was crushed.
He stole a bread.
What was the truism
of unheard voices?
Groping in green darkness
I was watching
the lethal plunge of man.
poem by Satish Verma
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Also see the following:
- quotes about chess
- quotes about voice
- quotes about walls
- quotes about boys
- quotes about bread
- quotes about green
- quotes about death
- quotes about divine
- quotes about men
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