Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Standing on a ledge―
counting the clouds.
Moon will never betray me.

Was it so easy to―
say goodbye, after thousand
words spent on you?

Your skin flutters like―
a flag. The big name of
stain was still beautiful.

Love had become a
truth, of a martyr. The
slaughter was a bundle of lies.

How will you undo the―
knots, of undying smile?
That was a thrill?

Go get the award of defeat.
I am still working on you.
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