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Satsih Verma
Poems
Dec 2020
There Was Nobody
In life's drama, art
of dying is played daily. Not
a single word I would write.
Whenever my mind reads
a bleed, you start washing my wounds,
presumptive to do something.
You are not another one,
a prawn on the heap of catch.The
prayer descends from sky to sleep god.
#life
Written by
Satsih Verma
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