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Satish Verma

(5-6-1935)

DOWNPOUR


Your lips were me.
I wanted a kiss
which never came.

Insertion of a word, was committed
my wings took a flight
for anonymity.

To keep suffering alive
truth was accepting the hurts.
I was not speaking for myself.

Who was me to want a praise
for the custodian of morality?
Something for my name?

I must salute the fallen fingers,
who did not write death –
for my hugging blankness.

Submitted: Thursday, March 27, 2008
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