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urdu poetry

je ne prie pas pour la paix
avec ses cheveux flaying d'une maničre extravagante
une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris
basculé dans le berceau du profond
dans la sphčre
je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
la nuit passée la pleine lune a étendu un tissu de blanc
dans pouvez
j'étais une déesse avant que le marbre m'ait trouvé

 



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