Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Contours Of Pain

Like Venus you were
hot. Intrusive, no beginning, no
end. I got very silent
to forget what made me very sad.

Me and my strange
discoveries always exciting me.
I didn't remain
a verdict of god, but a recreated
clay model. Baked
strong and sturdy.

Drink my cool.
Waiting for the rogue
asteroid to hit my world
and break me.

In freeze, we remain losing
our fingers.
Will not write down
the ascending paralysis.

Why dying stars were leaving
black holes?
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