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TRAVAILS OF VIVISECTION
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Satish Verma The future dubs.
A pride is shattered.
The philanderer moon
sprawls over the
candlewick.
A ghost walks
through the wall.
A thin blade of
grass, holds the sun
for ransom.
Fireflies flutter in head
savagely.
I was not able to sleep.
What was the theme of the murder?
No sugar, no salt
was worthy of death.
Satish Verma
