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In despair, beyond-pain, I will watch my dreams in rimless eyes of wet faces. The lake had been sending back the white and black shrouds everyday. They were jumping one by one old and young, from the twisted planks holding geraniums. A warm prayer on the lips, what was left worth enduring ? The innocence, the guilt, the shame ? Clinging to bloody lumps of happiness who is going to have a last laugh ? Time is breathing gloom, body is attached to a pole. SATISH VERMA

Copyright © | Year Posted 2008

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