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Satsih Verma May 2018
Leaving a ****** trail―
moon jumps into lake in hurry.
Sun knocking on doors.

Existing without
the soul, was a fatal mix
of lips and hamlock.

You write your name
on the decapitated moon
declaring a war.

Fireflies now dip
the sparks in your eyes, which
will become blue poems.

— The End —