Satish Verma
Returning Home
After dispossession,
collecting the dolls─
dusting them off.
Who was watching
you, dousing yourself
to give a political statement?
Cutting the leaves
of grass, I open
the book of Walt Whitman.
This was a targeted
killing. I will not join
the funeral procession.
A mistaken lull.
One day I will─
shoot endlessly.
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