25 february 2019
Your Voice
There was a sharp rise
of indecent things. On the
rocks you left my name
without flowers.
Make a heap of all
the gifts of life and griefs and
start a bonfire. No message
is going to come.
Let us live in separate bowls
of soup. Time had swept
them clean for a murder.
One day the alien god will
alight from the sins,
to alter the numbers.
The mudslide of untruths
will scupper your house
made of paper and pen.
3 may 2024
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Justice PureSatish Verma
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AmnesiaSatish Verma
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Pan pokląskwa w ostatnichJaga
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CompromisedSatish Verma
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Uśmiech z trawkąJaga
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By KissesSatish Verma
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The EntitySatish Verma
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QuartzSatish Verma