Lacerations


Were you a price victim
of an unknown?
You step out in darkness after
a family fued to walk barefoot
on bonsai of miffed arguments.

You do not know the barbs,
the hidden hate of centuries,
and yet you must finish the voyage
to truth, the song of eternity.

Upon these wounds lies the blue
eye of a soul, as pure as the Himalayan
ice, the abode of a quivering god,
not the terror, not the war, not
the imprudence of make-believes.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

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