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Sunbath
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Satish Verma The tibial spiking
now hurts.
The floaters on the dried bed―
of bones, speak volumes
of sand in eyes.
Pawns have disappeared.
The earth is wounded.
A snake climbs onto the pink lips
to know its crime.
The matter interacts wrongly
with radiation. Spectroscopy
fails up to the hilt.
On the spur of the moment
I ignite the shadow
of the space between us.
The miser starts counting the coins.
