Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Pragmatically

I will not have any
alliance with your words
I am lost in wordless thoughts.

Ask the dead phrases―
you repeat often. Like evil hydra,
new heads come out daily.

This is my domain, my
battlefield. The letters do not
take any shape. Dots speak.

I love the statue
of laughing Buddha. Melting
the pods of transmission.

You know that, you do not want to say.
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