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Satish Verma A brown cloud descends
on charcoal sketch.
Moonstruck, a blast begins.
Marigold, beware:
sun is going to hide
behind the stings.
The fang penetrates deep,
in the breast
of sleeping pride.
A golden god
melts in the arms
of mercy.
The lips suck the blue poison
of the hymns.
The saint was a killer.
I am a ravaged path
who wants nothing
from the feet!
