The lake was calling.
I will go untelling every one
conch shell on the beach.
Morning star moves
away from the stranger, who
brought the silent pain.
A stigma, an ache and
tears, embrace moon sitting,
on weeping Ashoka.
Satish Verma
I will go untelling every one
conch shell on the beach.
Morning star moves
away from the stranger, who
brought the silent pain.
A stigma, an ache and
tears, embrace moon sitting,
on weeping Ashoka.
Satish Verma
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