Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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…… Distant Shores - P

Twilight song of a cuckoo
taps the window softly.
Gothic tree and drooping sky
humble my thoughts.
Past was me.
I will know then
why your hills turned away my clouds
by shifting sands.

Was it a colossal guilt of tomorrow?
Which never wanted to become present
and enter my house.
But my memory was sharp
and days were numbered.

I wanted to invite the death discreetly
while praising the life and listening to birds
without dropping the history
from my crooked fingers.

Between yourself and myself
a sea was surreptitiously raging.
The waves were dividing the shores.
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