Satish Verma
Truncated
A midnight craft
dumps the moon
on a heap of deceits.
I ask my sap to turn back for truism.
It was a question of spacing
between the bodies
in scapegoats;
coming for slaughter.
A scale measures the depth
of defeats. The hands
were busy in mending the
walls of psychiatric ward.
Have you ever tasted a white
poison, sweet in taste?
When you grow old, you will
look like your father.
The name which was absent
in calendar, was found everywhere.
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