Minutes Into Hours Poem by Satish Verma
Minutes Into Hours
You do not mean, what
you say in dim voice, I
would, what I didn't say.
Light moves abruptly
to kill darkness. I was wounded.
Seeds would germinate?
Half a sun, King moves.
Queen sleeps on the golden bed.
Moon will weep at door.
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6/1/2024 10:59:33 PM # 1.0.0.1119
