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Satish Verma Inviting yourself
for a kiss of wasp?
This was a hidden mood.
Being yourself,
you were insulting someone,
my poems, my theology.
Touching trees,
one by one, searching your
name on every leaf.
O God of half eaten
breads, why do you lie
on the petals only?
The tears fall
was becoming louder.
Frozen eyes are starting a
meltdown.
Where would you live
in autumn?
