Poetry is what surrounds you, the air you breath, the the golden sunset you see, the chirping birds you hear, yet the wind that blows off your clothes such that we see your naked mind.
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I long for the day when I'll go back To my old village Sandwiched between the interlocking Abardares And the thick bamboo filled Kipi...
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What is it about me? That though yearning To be beyond reproach I always find myself wanting The much I strive to toe the line ...
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Imagine a call from hell One filling you with such a cruel spell Telling you to slay your dear wife To defile your inno...
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