Satish Verma

Be my sleep, I tell a dream. 
A lantern was chasing the shadows 
on wall. My fever? 
I say, past one awakening 
I will sleep eternally. 

The age licks the grief of fallen 
pride. I was still walking on 
sharp stones, bleeding inside. 
here I come from the caves. 

A whole truth becomes unholy 
when mixed with crackers and has 
a loud noise. Let the river of life 
flow in breast in night of hunger 
without a provider.

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