Satish Verma
After The Chemo
You said this summer,
hold me tight,
when hanging lights-
go out.
I will heal your moon,
your cryptobiosis
of seeds-
at dawn, when you wake up
before the stars leave.
It would not be a day of mourning.
The quinces, japonica
irises were deeply disturbed.
Under the tongue
lies the religion of masses.
The menus are same, only
the taste was different.
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