Superstitions Poem by Satish Verma
Superstitions
An empty chair in a
muffled day, starts
a self-import and
falters on steps.
You need the fear, to
strike back, when the
tracer distribution
returns with a ghost.
The discount will substract
from the truth. I will
find the zero at the
end of lies.
Will I concede to the
barter? Let me first taste
the bitterness of victory,
become drunk on your hate.
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5/7/2024 10:59:31 AM # 1.0.0.1119
