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Satish Verma
June 5, 1935
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A Squall Roars
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I don't want to take
my words bad. Where do I keep
them in burning house?
*
It simmers, the sandy path
to bury you alive in hot truths.
No end of beginning.
*
Who does fall, which
has no height? Moonlight spreads
on hot lava of tears.
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