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Satish Verma The particulate allegories
were tossed around.
The wheels had refused
to exit.
Unscathed, phrases
were erupting in pulses.
There was flame and ice
Inherent -
in the silicate of
wedded friendship.
Who was afraid of the bed
in heydays
of thorns down the roses?
An endless journey for the
bleeders in labyrinthine life
of yes and no.
"...heydays of thorns..."
the idea explodes in quantities of pain - miraculous image - Stella