A fast in hurry. you
pretend that you
The legend survives,
putting the land’s blood
in the grass roots.
The tremors had started
in the blue flame. A lunatic
calls for the moon to explain.
The tides were not coming?
the decline of sinkers.
A watershed of humility.
The river has left the
body of water.
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Comments about this poem (NO STRINGS by Satish Verma )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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