In time warp, to find
the fell of a dark moon
my thoughts bring out a birthday gift.
The first step in fog
discovers the sharp edge
of kindness.
Who will believe
this black and white,
suicide of a sage?
Newborn roses and dahlias
speak through
the nothingness of fear.
I just saw the face of death
floating on a pond.
Ashes and bones out of the urn.
Satish Verma
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