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Not Listening To Yourself
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Satish Verma I paint the day
for you, for the last rites
of sun.
Embracing the dark
to dissolve the boundaries.
I will question, something
else, not about the stoned moon.
The other side of the
thin hijab, was a humiliated truth.
Facts were always knifed.
Something moves
harshly to break the silence.
A pink self betrays the denial.
How mandatory it
was to keep on gooding
the blue flames!
There is no family
of the bohemian.
