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by Satish Verma Oct 30, 2022 category : Nature, environment / nature
The yellow jasmines are dead. My ache returns. My language does't speak. My agony will describe the authentic death. It is a long prose. One eye sticks out from the socket to read clearly. The see-through veil leaks the story, which can't be taken to the beautiful end. First you grill the moon, then ask for the slanted answer. Love takes off the makeup. How long the poems will cry?