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The Melting
Folder:
Satish Verma Not moving, the words
had gone into inertia. The space was shrinking.
Only restlessness was there in buoyancy
ready to distort the sound of depth.
I am expanding in propriety,
in meaning.
Pure burning on flame of truth,
like a moth.
Listen to the guilt,
the denial to the stasis of soul.
The loneliness brings the touch
of unlimited falls.
"...like a moth..."
a comparison of concepts using as or like: I love this moth burning truth! - Stella