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Jun 2019
how silent it is, how still,
like the nights in my town,
what do I say, what do I fear,
is this town grieving, it is,
so is this poem, so is that man.

descending to Hades,
my anxiety is a mourning widow,
why do paper cuts hurt so much,
why are the lilies decaying,
β€œget some sleep”, says my mother.
Simra Sadaf
Written by
Simra Sadaf  22/F/India
       BR Dragos and Traveler
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