Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Naked As Ice

Howling wind!
Why were you gathering the―
dead leaves, sweeping
the desolate white road?

A bleak and dismal emptiness
in-between, the
no man's land.

Thousand eyes watch the tiny flurries.
The perfect peace,
descends.

From moon's navel,
falls the golden bloom.
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