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Nursing Our Hurts
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Satish Verma Digging your own
grave, to find the golden end.
In a casual kiss
you went for initiation
by fire.
Open yourself to
receive the pain of flowerbaths.
Poorest-of-poor,
go on telling me all the lies
of becoming beast.
I will tell only the eternal
truth, to crimp Archeology.
It does not heal,
the history of man. There
were only bloody wars.
Again I pick you
for my sake, you were
my lost child of nightmares.
