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Feb 2019
in the summer of ‘18,
death became poetry
to me and grief became
a permanent resident,
a burden – a burden
of knowing, and god
forbid if I am granted a
moment of joy, life slaps
another apocalypse at my
beautiful face, one of you
wrote to me saying I am
no one and I will die a
no one, it just shows how
broken that human is, I
hope poetry will be the
death of me because to die
a failed writer is okay, but
to die a broken human is not.
Simra Sadaf
Written by
Simra Sadaf  22/F/India
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