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Every man every fountain, every woman, every feeling every heart is a protrusion in the hollow of the universe
We are the intruder of silence
Poetry is searching for that silence again.
There is a song
that has never been sung
That is why
I keep on singing.
The horror of human heart,
To the orphans of Poverty...
Messiah has never crossed over your land
where the idolatry lives on forever...
Drawn-out and broad
on the cobblestone...
I was a poet
Bonfire is florid
Sun is shining inside wood...
You could see my dear,
ceasing eroded mirrors...
I was all the desolations one could ever have,
all the distance of loneliness one could ever...
-you are not bleeding!
-I ain't exhibitioner...
Where would skies crack
for I am longing to see...
the gift is there , we are only the carriers.
The farther we go the farther we venture in past.
History unburies itself in the farther future.
These roads are paved because of our distances.