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by Satish Verma Nov 6, 2022 category : Nature, environment / nature
No time was left to call you to bring in black rose to ward off the ill omen. Garden was burning. Between the dense smoke and golden flames, blood moon was disappearing like brisk pain. Nothing matters now. I had kissed your hand only once, before the door was shut. The lips would count the poems we didn't share. Clouds come, clouds go. The story ends of rags to riches. The riches of knives become blunt. The Beekeeper was dead.