Satish Verma
Wrapped In Stigma
The heritage
went for a sale. A tree
stands denuded, after
a nudie.
An orange land hides
the broken remains of terra
cota. I wanted an earthen
inkpot and a reed pen.
There was a wounded word
on the tongue. A
dragonfly leaves the voracious
appetite and skims on milk.
Pulsating cleavage
gets a prize. The salt lakes
are full. A caged bird
will not sing.
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