Absolutely zilch.
Sometimes you feel―
nothing moves.
Coming out of
remorse, there was no
confronting power―
to reason. Even
time freezes in your pen,
ink evaporates.
The blues, become
a sacred cove, where
a lake would take birth.
And a speaking
pain will embrace your
sinking boat.
Satish Verma
Sometimes you feel―
nothing moves.
Coming out of
remorse, there was no
confronting power―
to reason. Even
time freezes in your pen,
ink evaporates.
The blues, become
a sacred cove, where
a lake would take birth.
And a speaking
pain will embrace your
sinking boat.
Satish Verma
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