A Wall Painting
Imperishable,
you keep the truth frozen
like the marrow, in the limbs of life,
producing blood cells
when sun rises.
Knocking again
at a rapist door
to leak the secrets of a hidden bed
of polity.
Contours of a dimmed
tunnel.
The times; Oh, the tongues
were tasting the peels of aorta.
poem by Satish Verma
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