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Inundation
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Satish Verma Standing on black stones―
in water death,
I let it go, my pride
at the end of bay.
No obituary
no elegy,
will erase the thoughts of coming and going
of moon, when night
starts crying.
The smoke-filled eyes
will speak of the burnt house,
when the sun was
telling the truth.
Setting frozen tulips
at your feet, I bring the
river of tears
to start the day.
