Satish Verma
Fencing
Scouring, the unmarked
silences―
for the invisible executions.
My name was
on top, for exclusion
from the list.
Now you can read the
applicant's account
under the sun's fault.
A thrill of terror
runs through the buds.
A celebration will stop the words.
There was no other
way, to know the pink of
a dying rose.
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