Satish Verma
Howling
Before I leave
I will give you my gift
to perceive the human anguish.
Time had passed like a snake
noiselessly, skipping the years
I grieved.
The solace of harvesting the dreams
was thin.
A terrible shadow of a futile
creation.
Hopes always lied
hollowed by anesthesia of truth.
A surrogate womb trims
the love.
My garden was always green.
Howling was generating the heat.
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