30 november 2021

poetry

Satish Verma
Satish Verma

New Religions

Pure kill.
I pull out the shivering
heart in my eyes.

A rising sin. I will
not forget you, never―
your tongue bifida.

And a real―
murder of a blue-green cow
reared for religion.

That sucks. The
numbers, the lies and
the terrible abuses.

The shadows are
lengthening and you were
becoming small.

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