In Empty Hands Poem by Satish Verma
In Empty Hands
Writing on the skin
of time, my scroll will tell you
the enigma of centuries.
I belonged to the depth
of your eyes. You will not read
the parchment of love.
Lady of ash flies
in the air to embrace the creator.
Yet I am not your opus.
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5/4/2024 5:32:21 AM # 1.0.0.1119
