Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Wishes

Nothing was beholden.
Colony counts were perfect.
You were never guaranteed and exit.

I am stalked by lips
of a black tulip holding
a moonbeam.

The world moves
wearing a shell of emptiness
in a cosmos, inviolable.

Aggrandizement
beyond the bluffing.
More beliefs and many withdrawls.

You will not kill me?
Half-way to soothing words
of ecstasy.
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