Carrying Molten Lava Poem by Satish Verma
Carrying Molten Lava
It was a homicide.
A red spot on the dark side to
conceal Coleoptera once.
The sound of pain comes.
You will not listen to the trauma
of legacy. The family of love is torn.
What clouds do when
sun sets, to cool the hot age
strangling in the awe of unseen?
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8/29/2026 4:11:03 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
