Nepotism

Like illegitimate sons
becoming nephews.
Stay with me I have lost
my ink.

An underground knife
cuts you to wrist,
you bleed on paper.

It was a tip of trust failure
after a wake up call by a loner;
the molten lava will find another
sexual pursuit.

There was nothing left to be
concealed, after the bonfires of veils.
The celibate tears come unbidden
I am going to encounter the pool.

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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