1 december 2022

poetry

Satish Verma
Satish Verma

Sides Of The Truth

How would you talk to―
your unborn child, when lynching
mobs were waiting?

*

The insider was pure.
Still unknown to blood moon.
That was my other flesh.

*

Swallow all the darkness
of crying earth, I impel your
nails to scratch the sun.

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