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Futility
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Satish Verma The snow mounds
have started gliding―
on the rocks like
mute swans.
I was collecting
the landmarks of my failures.
From jade to jade
and wins.
Plucking the fear
to remain alive in the
ruins of wingless dreams.
I cannot catch your
face now, in my words.
The grey hounds of dementia
would not wait.
