You come like undersea
quake, hitting
the sleeping moon.
No headlines,
no bleeding hearts,
just masochism.
Drinking angst
and spirit, from― a
Venus in exile.
After holy scripts
drifting out
with battle scars.
quake, hitting
the sleeping moon.
No headlines,
no bleeding hearts,
just masochism.
Drinking angst
and spirit, from― a
Venus in exile.
After holy scripts
drifting out
with battle scars.
Satish Verma
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