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Wasil 6d
Eyes from the sahara
As the world grafts onto my twin
A cloak of the untrue
We sip from the same water
Yet the fluid differs

Eyes from the eclipse
As blindness molds my phantom
Left stained by the garden of grants
Pressed from the same fruit
Yet not the same flavour

Eyes from the cataract
As the lens distorts myself
Suspended upon the bridge of ephemera
Blessed with the whole
Yet shifting beyond their gaze

— The End —