Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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From The End

Hard and brittle,
the cost of sealing the lips
was increasing overnight.

Cleaving the thoughts―
you would not tell,
what do you believe.

I watch in horror. A
planned trajectory has
failed, shielding the tears.

A furore rises. Half―
humans were fighting
with stones.

It will talk, one day
the agony of deathmask,
you did not want to wear.
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