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"What is life?" She said.
  "A sharp knife" I whispered.
A closed door is sometimes
Much better than a fake open gate.
in endless pursuits
of things, only proposed
that lay in adornment of
destiny's stony brook

adjacent, to our hopes
these objects of desire
of longing
they languish, as we slave on
for naught much more than to live
to have enough

they are forgotten in our dark times
in our moments
where light leaves us,
and are brought back
with fresh life
I suddenly turned back
When I smelt
The scent of your perfume
My bad luck
It was a jasmin tree
Has your soul dwelled that tree?
We lost our way
But your perfume has made my day.
Love created from the roots of anger shall never last long unlike love created from the roots of compassion.
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