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The Solace of Sadness
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Satish Verma Pain of the day. I hurt
myself. You pretend. At first I slip.
Then the snowdrop bends me.
I will not break in
the sounds of love. You listen to the
fall of a vagabond moon in water.
The starved leaves whistle.
Will you talk with the wind? You hear
the voices of the body in hollow land?
To me, your poems in this
To me, your poems in this style are textbook-perfect; this one as much as the others.
Starward