Curbing

Folder: 
Satish Verma

It was a lingering goodbye 
for anchor moon 
after a religious embrace. 
I bid farewell 
in the chilling night 
for a song of separation. 

Where the beginning ends 
into a house of distillation. 
Blasphemy, where did you find 
the anatomy of truth? Mortality 
demands a long 
journey of tender age in prayers of sprouts. 

The eloquence of dictionary 
expects the price of hoofs 
to stay with otherness.

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