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Unwritten Grief
Folder:
Satish Verma Standing in dark storm,
not to turn back.
An imperial oath
breaks, I don't want to
take any foreward for
my departure.
Small feet in
tattered shoes will not
leave any footmarks, and
climb the sharp edge.
Any friend becomes
A bleeding wound. It was
better to seek an asylum
in smile of black moon..
The knitting must
start. There was a pause
in pain of giving away
my muse.
