The first cry of a baby.
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It’s so difficult to recognize
A life under the shadow.
The song of the skylark
Declaring widowhood to the bride.
Oil floats
In small, tiny amount.Likewisepeople of low profileScatter their dreamsWhen they fall short ofan appropriate numberthat suits their existence.
The Moon in the desert
A widow’s forehead.None to stare at it,None to share with herNone to think of herPleasure or pain,Loss or gain,She is no one’s possessionAny more.
Souls never depart, nor
Behind every existenceHigh or low, rich or hollow.Aspirations- near or far,Shelters in a heart in silence.
In that deadly moment,
You from me.All your memories, all at oncewere all invoked within me.Felt like flying up to there,where this moment, you are.To meet those eyes, hazelthrough the blue curtainsThat fall between youAnd your faithful shadow.