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The Golden Dust
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Satish Verma The other day.
A full moon was walking
on the pavement
like a pedestrian.
I was dumbfounded
at the sight of the imperial walk.
To give a poetical start?
Was it a pin drop visual
with no sound? Only night
was listening to footfalls?
I would not know of,
the journey of ending
or ending of journey.
Like death burning
inside the seed, or a golden
flame becomes a lapping machine?
