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A name without 
a face. I am an ancestor 

A shortened height, 
difficult to exult
in honors bestowed.

The light hurts, in 
earthen cave. You write 
on wall of conscience.

The mud clings.
Stink covers you, like 
serpentine arm.

The arbor has many 
colors. I will choose 
none in dark.

Satish Verma

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

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