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by Satish Verma Jul 5, 2022 category : Nature, environment / nature
Beyond the moon spirit, I will wait for the holocaust to disappear. Spruced up stones were becoming idols for pagans of muse. The singer is gone. Only the fluted men will wear black, till the moon arises. Sitting near the feet of saints, the fronds unroll the untidy sins, as a homage to sun. The vigilance increases. Nobody will write one's name on the growing trees of palms. There would be no preface, when the violence starts without lips.