Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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A Squall Roars

I don't want to take
my words bad. Where do I keep
them in burning house?

*

It simmers, the sandy path
to bury you alive in hot truths.
No end of beginning.

*

Who does fall, which
has no height? Moonlight spreads
on hot lava of tears.
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