Satish Verma

Listening to a gleaming 
word whole life 
and finding its meaning at 
the fag end. 
And you are in thrall 
to a sinful pleasure. 

The yearnings 
of a small Pteris, 
which drinks arsenic daily 
to rescue a withering smile. 

A poem sings to me 
under a lantern, when a 
storm was raging to roil 
the blue birds of imploring peaks. 

It looks into your eyes 
to find the answer 
of complete shutdown 
of cotton feel.

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