Criticality
The stench of death
invalidates the blood spray
on your face.
Incorporating the bottomless
blues. I will give you
a baby-truth and
you would give me a stain,
grabing the goddess of
flame for a renewal of crime.
Breaking the taboos, you
jump into river of fire
to retrieve the opaque icon.
Ah, a sleep-deprived
moon walks on the cinders
to invoke the support of night.
Satish Verma
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