Just as I think of you;
a jungle in your land
goes into flames.
And I stand in the golden dust
of a sun, where iced grass
starts smiling.

Where iced grass
smiles, the
pear leaves― still in their prime
colors, invite the show
to play autumn.

In the countries apart
do you touch the blue moon
at night, when you are tending
the sacred basil?

You will not know,
what you wanted to know― of
the unknown.

The magi have not brought any gifts.

by Satish Verma

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