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Smell Of Nothing
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Satish Verma Driving green fire
out of melodies.
It was not make-believe
not mannerism
but smell of autopsy.
A pseudo-elegy starts
at burial site.
Frugality of dust
first decides to go to god
and then die.
Race, religion, tribe
and their foot-soldiers
had become red
for lupines. It feels like
fire of hell. I am drunk
and I am burning.
