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Wounded Dance
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Satish Verma A rock becomes a philosopher.
Refuses to move
looking at the stars.
Rogue shirts were walking
on the clouds of unknowing.
I wanted to remove all the clocks.
Who was stealing the water?
Secret of life? Impiety had
undone the pillars of random love.
Ashes volcanic or of tears enter
the pores of consciousness.
The screams wake up the dark blood.
A naked doll pelts the grey eyes
on the blood sucking story.
A dark tunnel opens in street.
