Fever Returns
Death wil wash
the feet of truth.
Grass,where the blood spilled
has gone for sale.
A pink eye stalks
the night in dark
humility. You know
moon was rising.
A melting pot rips
apart the ghost.
Besottled I celebrate
the arrival of flames.
Thirsty, you throw the
ice cubes on the ramp.
Butterflies are going to
visit the altar.
Satish Verma
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