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Satish Verma You have kept the
script― to age in dark,
silent night.
Drawn into the upheaval,
of grains―
ready to strike the mouth.
Nameless wheels were out
to carry the gay pride.
I am not amused of the day.
Who was naturally―
born― breathlessly, holding
the flag, to spite the clan.
A pink window was
stolen from the green house.
The light now burns black.
