Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Sanity

Being alone,
writing poetry
to meet the infinity
on paper.

The words will not come
to me. I am trying
to catch the moment.
One by one-

I light the candles,
watching you slithering.
A transient truce
with my hands.

Collecting the broken
light years. Enter
into the eyes. O river. The hunger
to trap you is increasing.
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