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Deleting
Folder:
Satish Verma Under the frame
lurking from a sun point
I will track the death
on mountain.
Unafraid, a wild animal
had killed the lambs
in a row, resting in homestead.
The ladders were squealing.
Dizzily you realize, that-
you don't belong to yourself.
After eating fire all along,
the birds had migrated; -
beneath the skin; now pigments
were changing the color. You
become selfish. Start removing
your name from the martyr's list.
