Satish Verma
Tapers
It went through me
the hot day;
vaulting back.
at night.
To hustle the poetry things.
Weary of the luminous
dials. I want to
think in dark.
*
The bookcase was empty.
Croaking words
had departed for
greener pastures.
Hold on.
I am coming to
defuse the grenades.
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