Euphoria or confession was the same thing.
Life was extracting a price.
Loneliness was too much amidst the crowd.
I wanted to trace out ,
The insanity of voices, of principles.
The truth had a complete descent in dark.
Lights were fading.
There was a method in violence.
A secret pact with blindness
Hearing not, seeing not was the game.
A philosophical slaying of grace and dignity.
Death of a doctrine smells good.
How come, I become a total stranger in my own city.
Attending on death for cheating was not easy,
More effort was needed to encapsulate
The fear of wrong.
The decoration will be incomplete
If we don't bring in the casteway fact.
Nothing is moving, the dirt or road.
Satish Verma
