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by Satish Verma Sep 10, 2019 category : Nature, environment / nature
It is raining. The water colors. I miss the ache. When, to wear a crimson dot on forehead, the sky had become a bride. Destiny fractured. Why did't I tell the lies to achieve the greatness? Not my effects. I stare blankly at your portrait. Blaming the conceptual crisis, you cannot speak the truth. Weaving a web of unseen threads, you hold a poem ready to take a flight.
