Satish Verma
Proving False
News runs faster
than the sun. It is
dark already.
You have started arresting
the shadows. I was still
talking to a rose.
Let's go somewhere. Where
no war cries are heard
for a day.
How many, will you―
count the dead? Each mortal
wants to go home.
The postcards, don't
arrive from the front
anymore.
Will you take my message
by the severed head.
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