Grammar

Only the love-birds will know
it was time of inquisition.
There was a lot of prodding in
the neighbourhood.

A voice without sound
was resenting with guilt-virginity
and the bell tolls
for a zero hour.

The entrusted trust was
still moving off the transparency.
Was it not a weird night?

The newly hatched babies,
jutting out their necks
from their clay homes were
to know the roots of verbs.

Satish Verma

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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