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Burnt Taste
Folder:
Satish Verma A cyan globe
rolling in the black sky.
I was visualizing
an earthset
on the horizon.
Lianas
threw a noose
around my neck.
Did I
start the fires?
My dissent
was of any relevance?
Who was standing
on the moon?
Self-centered was your vision
I was trying
to turn the tide.
So much bragging
could not go well with me.
The tongue had the burnt taste.
