Poetry

Satish Verma


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3 september 2019

Sound Bites

The plaques were being 
attached to the wall. You would not be able 
to go for refusal. The right to say no 
was inherent in yes. 
 
Accepting the exorcism and self― 
flagellation, exonerates you from the guilt of 
giving away; which was not yours. How 
can you claim that you are your own master? 
 
You tie a knot on the thread, hang it 
on the weeping tree, throw back your head, 
and wipe out all the questions, I wrote 
on your forehead. 
 
Peace― it will be mine.






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