3 november 2018

poetry

Satish Verma
Satish Verma

Foggy Night

A machine pain, 
scripts the name secretly, 
intones the verdict. 
 

 
I don't need, 
to prove it, like the man 
who sells the dreams. 
 

 
Privacy interrupted, 
I have come out in open, 
to commit the god.

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