The WartsA Poem by Satish VermaLike a wax moth, me― sensing your footsteps
Like a wax moth, me―
sensing your footsteps from a mile. * The half-truths were always baked in milk to look white. * The cleric was jubilant. God has decided not to live any more. © 2016 Satish Verma |
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Added on October 2, 2016 Last Updated on October 2, 2016 |

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