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Where The Lies Are Born?
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Satish Verma Entrailes were sucked by grief
and pleasure bruised;
beyond the possible
I aspired to find
meaning of life.
A will to reject
unbearable waste,
I trim humiliation.
Time scares by taking revenge
breaking the inner serenade,
and I climb the doubts.
Heartache persists without revelation.
no bitterness descends.
I dip my fingers in blood
to write a flaming entity.
Tell me where the masks are assembeled?
Where the lies are born?
