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Satish Verma Trying to quantify the vices
in you, I am becoming
brute.
Going my own way.
I join the migration
of invisibles.
A plucked tiger lily
roars. Amphibians were ready
to invade the mountain.
The curled fingers
had become question marks.
Blindness had become a bliss.
Inlaid in the redwood
lies my blood. I lived under
the branches, naked, carefree.
