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A fake sanity with its wisdom enlarges the space between the coarse land of craft and sea of emotions for stress to walk with soul in sleep. A dope for the last hurt in hurricane at burning lake where I was collecting the black seeds from the fallen tree of love near the deck of house we built on waves. Do not corrupt the innocence of sky enveloping the rage of sun. The call was imminent from the dead leaves of autumn. One day the anginous waste will become seed vessels. Satish Verma

Copyright © | Year Posted 2011

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Date: 3/25/2011 12:46:00 PM
I enjoyed reading your excellent poetry today Satish. I hope you have a wonderful weekend filled with new found inspiration. Love, Carol
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Date: 3/25/2011 8:05:00 AM
Now this is true poetry at its best.. Wow, I really like your style....Michael
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