Poetry

Satish Verma


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21 january 2018

On The Brink

I was trying to communicate 
the poverty of words. 
We were moving in circles. 
Dark figures- 
afraid of each other. 
 
What was a shame - 
in restraints 
of narcissism? You are 
not going to take a dip 
in opaque waters. 
 
A conceptual withdrawl 
from the acrimony of hills. 
Night was very cool but 
moon will not come down 
and grass will not go up. 
 
I will never be generous 
in jokes of a monstrous 
nose. The stink was awful 
but roses were white and 
the meaning had no confines.






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