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You Pick Burnt-Outs
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Satish Verma My mouth burns.
I speak, because I don't want to
speak. It was the red rose, responsible.
I must start conversation
with death. It was enough to visit me
againand again. A kiss will silencethe voice.
Untold, the domain enlarges.
You would fight sexism. It was rising
like crimson flames. Do you know the real?
