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Words Are Becoming Mute Birds
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Satish Verma Not a single word in
twilight, lighting a lamp for the
departing sun, a lump of throat.
The world in your fist,
but you cannot kill a honeybee.
The pyramid climbs down from the sky.
Every night, you cross the
water of your eyes to catch the fireflies
of a burning garden, I will not sing.
