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The Wheels
The path disappears
under the foot.
Gently I lay down the book
and start reading the blank page.
Stainless thoughts.I strip to root.
A stunning revelation
about a tinned dialogue.
Blue hydrangeas
were telling something.
It was time to become insane
on the street.
The lust,
the sex
creeps into the sect. Religion was a proxy
to kill, to achieve a stop.
going nowhere.
poem
by
Satish Verma
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