Poetry

Satish Verma


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4 december 2021

Leukosma

A dynamic kill,
when you start crystal―
gazing.

Were you a participant
of an organized
rape of the planet?

Your roots drop,
as you gamble with the
change of coins. It would
become a stillbirth,
of a seaisle.

Telling lies has become
a lucrative job.
Are you going to buy immortality,
in the bazaar of bazookas?

The blast cells were
rising. There was intense
pain in my thighs. Blood
was turning white.






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