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Half-Drowned
Folder:
Satish Verma The knot was broken
from the waist,
as if we were struck
by a bolt.
Thinking must stop.
Violence was there within
the pods, to explode and
eject the seeds.
The silent rape of a
sleeping book. You cannot
tear off the pages,
limb by limb.
You will not read the
past. Would not write
the future. The present roars
through the window starting a brush fire.
