Satish Verma

June 5, 1935

Nursing Our Hurts

Digging your own
grave, to find the golden end.

In a casual kiss
you went for initiation
by fire.

Open yourself to
receive the pain of flowerbaths.

Poorest-of-poor,
go on telling me all the lies
of becoming beast.
I will tell only the eternal
truth, to crimp Archeology.

It does not heal,
the history of man. There
were only bloody wars.

Again I pick you
for my sake, you were
my lost child of nightmares.
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