Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Very Discreetly

Tonight moon was

gliding like a swan,

white and graceful.

But you slept on my hand

like a skylark.

Your eyes lit up

when I squeezed a verse.

Do I need to tell you

that fireflies had gone mad

after striking you?

And the weird thing was,

Aurora blushed after running into dark.

To catch your shadow,

time stood still, until

the sun passed away.
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