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After Separation
Folder:
Satish Verma You filter time.
Time filters you.
I catch the words.
The empty bowl
of a fakir betrays the fabric
of life, without seeking.
Mid winter I will ask―
the moon not to freeze.
Some sounds you will not hear.
Tearing the fog, I
wanted to teach you the language
of pain, becoming cold.
Like meteor of
a melting star, you were moving
away faster than light.
