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Drift Ice
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Satish Verma Absurdity was waylaid
like a black swan on the
grass shaking a leg.
A child walks through me
antithetical to scorched life
of parallel egos.
Austerity was neither present
nor absent.Volcanic ash
was spewing on recti.
It was drifting, the snow bound
killer, spilling the blood in sea.
Home was still for away.
