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A brush with pain of chest
starts recalibrating the fog of eyes.
World has come a long way

from a child’s brain to prepare
an indigenous bomb
for a roaring ascent.

Where my son, you want to go
in trees of words? The temperatures
are rising to widen the scope

of violence. Every one was
claming to be a terrorist
for bringing the peace on earth.

let the party begin.

Satish Verma

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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