Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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You Were My Last Kill

What was your secret of―
cheating on me?

If you were an abstraction
like a moon in blue night,
how will you write
a poem, without paper and ink.

I was a word catcher,
of your language.
Cannot decipher my pain in―
my nativity.

Always had to live in the
family of longhorns, who
destroyed my sanctity.

You raised a tomb
of sun, after death squad
failed to kill me
and the dark fell.

Just before the dawn
I will meet you in deep lake of eyes.
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