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Satish Verma A thought starts a fire
loosening the lips.
I want to scream.
Between dreams and stars
a sky hung with
inverted moon.
The desire springs a scythe
but cannot cut a
jellyfish of eye.
A sunstroke was speechless
without a sun.
The gift of a night.
The sweet tooth of a lie
scoops a truth,
king of bitters.
