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by Satish Verma Aug 9, 2023 category : Nature, environment / nature
You seldom touch the flames of eyes, when I believed it was true. Your hand burns. Ceremonial. I pluck the roses in delirium. O pain-giver there was beautiful blood. Cloud, cloud tears slip for thousand of years to reach the dry lips of iris. Why did I go blind? After the snake bite you turn blue, a goddess of forgotten sins, I will never blame you.