You Will Not Create Death
Was it the end of senseless
striptease
of the rainbow,
crawling towards the destruction ?
Pathography hurts when
you look at the sea for a
bipolar thrust. There was
an absent father.
You cannot touch the wreath,
it burns in your hands. Where
will you place it when
it was raining words ?
Ah, an accidental incest now
will spawn the half-siblings
in an archipelago of opinions.
There was no birthday celebrations.
Satish Verma
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