a poem by Satish Verma, India

Talking of oblique truths,
did you find a human face
not mauled by greed ?

Blood on their hands,
murder was everywhere,
Desperately I try to wash
the stains from the innocent eyes.

Meanwhile ungratefuls
were playing the game
of toppling the morals.

I burn my midnight lamp
to read the misery on block walls
in the crumbling ruins
of last century.


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