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Mar 2019
Words throw us
apart in the desert of
eyes, where no rains
come now.

Misty lips don't
leave the imprints on
the frozen face.

It was very cruel
of times. We watch together
but don't speak
from wound to wound.

When you don't own me,
will not call the hangman.
Ropes were very weak.

Come November,
I will ask the sun to cool.
Moonlight was becoming hot.

A snake dithers,
before it puts its fangs
in the chest of sleeping moon.
Written by
Satsih Verma
102
 
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