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Jul 2015
the soul wells with poetic thoughts
but the mind no longer knows poetic word
and the fingers no longer have poetic purpose
just a small figure in a towering chamber
where every footstep echoes for hours
so there is not a cough, not a whisper
and those who pass through would say
that no one lives there,
at least not any more
Written by
     Emmanuel Phakathi and Taru M
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