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It Opens
Folder:
Satish Verma An oriole gives
an edgy call
in the blaze of morning.
I am not fully awake,
sky is melting on window.
Death has company.
Zen, it did not connect me
with your god.
I am tired of pretentions.
Small was the wasp
in a cobweb of pain.
It floated a sign of conflict.
My thorn did not prick your petals
in vain. Dead leaves
started bleeding.
