Eating fire, but entangled
in the cobwebs,
of becoming or not becoming
a child again;
in the hollow of a maimed body
looking beyond the opaque
hirsutism
of lies.
Path leads to inward lake
where I will meet you
on the white beach.
And snap the waves.
Let the winds blow now
in reeds,
between cracked heels.
Satish Verma
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