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Half-Drowned

The knot was broken from the waist, as if we were struck by a bolt. Thinking must stop. Violence was there within the pods, to explode and eject the seeds. The silent rape of a sleeping book. You cannot tear off the pages, limb by limb. You will not read the past. Would not write the future. The present roars through the window starting a brush fire. Satish Verma

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017




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