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No Acrimony
Folder:
Satish Verma You decline to speak―
to listen―
to see
like a meditating Buddha.
Like a sunflower
with moon seeds,
ready to explode at sunset.
Strangulated―
neck, hanged from a tree
to tell the tale―
that you were violated.
This was the principle of
cosmic order. Poor god
waits for the world
to show the rage.
I wake up the tree.
Leaves fall like unspoken words
from the decaying oak.
