The collective
scream of peacocks,
brings the night horror.
The horses run―
in morning blue.
The call has come.
Cotton wool on―
retina. I cannot read
your command.
To immerse
my god in your lake,
the wait must be long.
scream of peacocks,
brings the night horror.
The horses run―
in morning blue.
The call has come.
Cotton wool on―
retina. I cannot read
your command.
To immerse
my god in your lake,
the wait must be long.
Satish Verma
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