Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Holed Up

You are becoming a
frozen leak, the violet
end.

Ultra was not going beyond
the zero. Here the―
journey ends.

Dispersion of light was
increasing, the surface tension
between me and religion.

Again you are deflecting,
taking an oblique route
to find the truth.

Who was the father
of an unborn lie?
I was not expanding any more.
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