7 september 2012
WORDS ARE MINE
Blood was in season,
on your hands.
A staged encounter
mauling the clouds.
Into a hare, you put the lead
with a roar of gun
and sun wants his share.
Beneath the honours
lies the guilt
of a ravaged moon.
I will not walk again
on the bristles of power.
Uncanny love lies in state.
Satish Verma
4 april 2026
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1 april 2026
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30 march 2026
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29 march 2026
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29 march 2026
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28 march 2026
absynt
24 march 2026
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24 march 2026
marka