07 February, 2022

In Summer Fall

The words are flying
away, enigmatically. There was a
family of god. Is the end drawing near?

Half- way you are talking
about sequences. Oceans are on fire.
A weak voice cries. I don't want to die

Who will call from the future?
The night will dance for the solar eclipse.
Don't touch me. I will not melt.

Satish Verma

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