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From The End
Folder:
Satish Verma Hard and brittle,
the cost of sealing the lips
was increasing overnight.
Cleaving the thoughts―
you would not tell,
what do you believe.
I watch in horror. A
planned trajectory has
failed, shielding the tears.
A furore rises. Half―
humans were fighting
with stones.
It will talk, one day
the agony of deathmask,
you did not want to wear.
