Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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This September

How far you will go―
with me,
in purple night.

Life will betray.
Death was honest.
Gods cheat.

Once perishable,
and obsolete.
You were chewing the same words.

Can I borrow
the sun from you for a while?
My moon was under a spell,
I will wear your smile.

Desire like toothache
was rising, tearing me apart.
I will drink only the potion
from your hands.
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