Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Imperiously

A downy mildew.
I will undress
the leaves.

Leaving the truth
at your door,
trespassing the moon.

When a house
was felled, why were
you collecting the blueberries?

Now, a brown poem
will write your name
on the guillotine.

An ocean apart
a voice booms
a shame for an empire.
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