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Jan 2017
A long night―
unending was,
the wait for the sickle moon.

Midnight,
shooting stars―
you are still breathing?

Doleful cry―
of the crickets. Why
the rain has stopped?

I was talking―
to the clouds
for a favor.
Written by
Satsih Verma
120
   ---, Elizabeth Squires and Kash
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