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By Satish Verma | Category :: Poem

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

By Satish Verma | Nov 12, 2017 | Category > Poem >Life | Comments | Views 163


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