Live on
the posters with blood on them,
the red kurtas with hoarse voices.
the eyes with all the veins,
the hands which moved in every direction.
the pens which wrote the scripts of revolutions,
the papers which becam manuscripts.
May be the voices were heard,
or may be the voices just died down
And we live on...
the red kurtas with hoarse voices.
the eyes with all the veins,
the hands which moved in every direction.
the pens which wrote the scripts of revolutions,
the papers which becam manuscripts.
May be the voices were heard,
or may be the voices just died down
And we live on...
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