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All life, he wanted to know himself
like a sea, which drowns itself
in the boat.

In your own turf, time had beaten 
you again and again. Still you will 
not become a fodder, 
on the dirt ramp.

Many things you did not say for
the sake of a pause in the learning.

The absolute versus scantly clad version,
always hurt you. 

A city breaks up in small quarters 
of anguish, rubbing on the future? 
behind the glass 
for a relative truth.

Satish Verma

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

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