Satish Verma
Myth Of Suicide
Be laid:
with your private wounds
beside me.
For otherness.
Can you come out from―
your flesh, and watch
the ribs, becoming
infrasonic?
The desiccated dreams,
inhaling the fire,
drinking pain. You have
come full circle.
Can you describe the
journey of dead souls?
Without tears? Are you
going to reject the end?
The ruins are always a beauty.
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