Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Long Threads

In warps and wefts
I interlace a face in―
fine linen.

Are you frightened?
My thumb print goes awry.
You will not recognize me.

I bring the sameness
from inside out.
All night I suffered the elemental ache.

Like Dante you cannot
escape inferno. I don't need
any help, cannot climb out for lynx eyed.

The age inflicts, and
time bites. Still I witness through bleary eyes―
a moon rising.
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