Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Absinthe

I was a non-believer in exodus
of nothingness.
Here you are,
I am.

In crimson sky
talking of nobody, unbuttoning the moon.
Fill up my glass
with tears of joy.

And sleep I must
in the arms of sorrow.
There was a shipwreck in absence
while chasing the eyes.
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