White lies

sun in tall grass - sole nell'erba alta

It was a glass house.
	A burning boat capsizes
	in milk body, creating
	a schism.
Relentlessly, a classical theme
	was furloughed. I
	refuse to sell,
	sell anything.
A deemed thought is
	nurtured, hiring the
	tall grasses, to hide
	the kill. I am writing―
a poem of falling leaves
	to eat the huge steps
	of a giant, who started
	the blood time.

Satish Verma

Pitted against forces bigger than him, Satish has been fighting with life on his own terms. During his time, he has authored several collections of poetry in English and Hindi.

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