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Not Yet Battered
Folder:
Satish Verma The pain physical.
I carve it in my mind, to
set it free― like the leaf going
to meet the ground.
To carry myself, holding
within, the desire to seek liberation
from coming and going.
My unroofed walls, taking
in, the sun, the rains―
the storm― the snow.
And my hurts―
my poesy.
I am confronting myself
for the final count.
