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Coming Face To Face
Folder:
Satish Verma When a gravedigger
mourns―
the impasse ends.
A robot turns on the rains.
With horror, you release
the doves to reach for
olive branches for peace.
Paraplegic, the horse
will not run― on hawthorns.
King was decapitated.
You talk to your seers
sleeping six feet down in earth
to explain the genocide―
of unborn fathers, when
they were praying
headdown for downpour.
