Riddled with shocks, a
ripening moon, rises in
pain, like wingless bird.
In search of human―
nest, to get back to sanctuary
of tender embrace.
I imagine you
standing at half-open door,
creating a myth.
Satish Verma
ripening moon, rises in
pain, like wingless bird.
In search of human―
nest, to get back to sanctuary
of tender embrace.
I imagine you
standing at half-open door,
creating a myth.
Satish Verma
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