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Take Up Your Book
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Satish Verma After the apocalypse,
the fiefdoms were growing―
buttercups― with golden flowers,
cupshaped.
Anemones and hellebores/
aconites and clematises/
famed for making lethal―
poisonous seeds.
So much went through us.
A billion years after― there will be
no life/ on earth. But we
have become lifeless now―
the poems incomplete.
It was getting smaller―
and smaller― the tall man.
