Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Along The Dots

What would you seek
from the collection─
of lyrics?
It is getting dark.

Dismantling the notes,
I heard, when tears
were sitting dead in─
the crying eyes.

Life reeks with the violence,
from inside. You wanted
one more religion to
atone for the stink.

But the signs will not
convey. I become the war,
the missile to destroy
my own kingdom.
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