Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Hacked to death.
All I scribbled on―
your breast.

I was on the verge of
a confession. I loved
you like never before.

A full moon, like a
toddler was hopping
towards me.

Never reached the
perfection. Do not have
any wants.

Getting the burns
from the cushions.
I will call you later.
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