Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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A Call To Murder

The rain enters back
into your eyes.
A private door quivers.

A moonless beam
flashes before you.
You start seeing in dark.

Silt settles in headless bodies
of poems.
The shadow of a tree-

opens the seeds of
unknown. The world is shattered
by an unending scream.

The struggle with the decision
was there, you squeeze
me like a prayer.
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