Satish Verma Writing

Tonight when you deploy the pillow to block the doors

Your hands were chopped off. How will you write

When the intellect was defiling the unwritten book;

For unspoken answers, there was always the─

Drunk at midnight, playing with

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Compartment 114
Compartment 114

I love you in poverty of words;

Overdriving the silence in zero light,

That was a pioneer, lunatic moon,

After a hard day a game-changing starts,

The auspicious death in moonless night.

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