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In Searing State
Folder:
Satish Verma A bit, like you
I wanted to live, making
my own rains.
When you will not yield,
I would come to meet
my nemesis.
The life flings away your
innings. Still you were trying to play
with flames.
Like sun's corona,
you were encircling me
in my eclipse.
Somewhere dandelions
spread the magic,
like your spindle fingers.
But weird thoughts
hover again to extract
the price of lost moons.
