Moment of truth.
Bougainvilleas
on grass.
A visible absence.
I was searching―
you in poems.
Your fluid eyes.
My moon-clouds
ready to crash on the land.
In my cupped hands
I collect the tears
of the sky.
Satish Verma
Bougainvilleas
on grass.
A visible absence.
I was searching―
you in poems.
Your fluid eyes.
My moon-clouds
ready to crash on the land.
In my cupped hands
I collect the tears
of the sky.
Satish Verma
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