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Of Land And Ills
Folder:
Satish Verma The dancing paper,
humilates the pen.
A stunning defeat for morality.
In splendid withdrawl,
the eyelids bear the violence
of soil.
A broken pride
will get back at you.
Step aside. Let the soul read the dewdrop.
The moon meets the
earthen lamp, to understand
the hymns of rag-pickers.
The religion drinks
the aroma of holy vice. Was
there any truth of a beast?
