Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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What Next

Between the swaying palms,
moon was moving
in armada.

Why did you come
late, to whisper, of the
explosive explicit?

But for a lone
cry, I would not
take you.

The jewels were mine.
You had stolen
from my waistband.

It substracts the
stings from my
hobbling gait.
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