10 November, 2020

You Pick Burnt-Outs

My mouth burns.
I speak, because I don't want to
speak. It was the red rose, responsible.

I must start conversation
with death. It was enough to visit me
again and again. A kiss will silence the voice.

Untold, the domain enlarges.
You would fight sexism. It was rising
like crimson flames. Do you know the real?


Satish Verna

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