Scent Will Be Buried
This way it was
this way it happened
I could not run along the river.
Your face floats
like a skylamp.
Halfway rainbow was broken.
How did it happen?
I became transgenic
by the kiss of death.
This was my victory
I surrendered the cushion.
You sleep in my arms.
Again I will wander
in the graveyard
where my angel was sleeping.
This is my last letter
in the month November
Now the scent will be buried in snow.
SATISH VERMA
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