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Unsucceeding
Folder:
Satish Verma After the
elective execution,
you reach at the
end of nowhere.
A wayward
cloud stands alone
under the plump moon.
It is absolutely―
white, like the
wings of a swan.
Beneath the earth
you want to dig out
the remains of dark hoods.
Gale-force winds
promise to make you
snow-blind.
