Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Starving

The who was
inside you.
I want to discover,
a foam-born deity,
killing the moon.

You destroyed
me in the poems.
I cannot weave the
moonlight on the
jessamines.

Can you send
a message to Mars?
It is too crowded on
the earth. There was
no room for the muse.
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