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"vigilance" poems
Melancholic vigilance can serve as a reminder That though we might be dying, the world is growing kinder; The flower's smile through rain and storm, as though it didn't matter, And rainbows fall benevolent, as storm clouds quickly scatter. A hand in yours is all you need, to get you through the night, And every day the world turns till the sky is filled with light. Be still my heart and trust this day to turn out for the best; The things I'm given I will keep, and never mind the rest. Sept. 7 2010
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Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 8:35 AM UTC
Melancholic
there’s a network of vigilance around the guarded causeway of walla walla the stacked cinders and smoking rails leave nothing but black hooded fate gray halls and razor scrawls mark the hellion crust abandoned overtures and dead fill cloud the horror and retribution of this hell hole bloaters and skin heads (with wretched memoirs) shout incessantly from the second floor adolphus greely reading over the rights of nantucket and banging his head on the bent steel bars with pockets pinched and tumblers dangling the stone walls soften... a seminal moment crosses the roo house as mother mary and the good painted warrior loosen a finely tuned grip
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Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
Network of Vigilance
An exchange of temptations that led to a hidden ordeal On an act of carnal ecstasy made to seal a deal The gamble to see if it’s worth lending a piece of the soul While trembling inside for the choices that would soon take toll The signs of deceit slowly surfaced but were shrugged despite suspicion Until a hasty flight provoked inner unrest and affliction Vivid memories of a previous torment come back haunting Knowing full well the Succubus affinity for betraying With logic and reason as both weapon and armor Against an enemy not easily made for capture Bargaining on a final bet that her grip be brought to nothing To release the mind from seemingly rotting The bargain commenced along with foreseen treason The sought peace only a hollow victory in a silently echoing frustration In total silence with a feeling that heavily burned A mental wall built to signify the lesson learned Screams of pain of the innards locked away in reticence Occurring to just seemingly mock the brilliance With great resolve brought by the treachery writhing in virulence Came the vigilance of avoiding such penitence And to never again taste the Succubus’ Sting in Silence
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Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 9:09 PM UTC
Succubus Sting in Silence
Each day she grows stronger. All physical functions require acute concentration unwavering vigilance. Her invisible shackle's bind me. Tornadoes my conscience weakens muscles, bruises skin Splinters the soul. Her outstanding weapon? Relentless emotional chaos!
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Sep 14, 2011
Sep 14, 2011 at 4:46 PM UTC
Mistress
*Main Talkhi-e-Hayat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya Gham Ki Siyah Raat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya* **With the worry from bitterness of life, I drank With the grief of my darkest night, I drank** *Itni Daqiq Shai Koi Kaise Samajh Sake Yazdan Ke Vaqiat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya* **Such delicate substance, how can one comprehend? With the fear of merciful moment, I drank** *Chhalke Hue The Jaam Pareshan Thi Zulf-e-Yaar Kuchh Aise Hadsat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya* **Overflowing cups and beloved’s anxious tresses With the concern for such calamities, I drank** *Main Aadmi Huun Koi Farishta Nahi Huzur Main Aaj Apni Zaat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya* **Human I am and no angel O’ respected Today, with the vigilance of my own being, I drank** *Duniya-e-Hadsat Hai Ik Dardnak Giit Duniya-e-Hadsat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya* **World of incidents is an agonising song With the discomfort of this world of incidents, I drank** *Kante To Khair Kante Hain Is Ka Gila Hi Kya Phulon Ki Vardat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya* **Thorns are yet thorns and there is no complaint With the scare from crimes of flowers, I drank** *Saghar Vo Kah Rahe The Ki Pi Lijiye Huzur Un Ki Guzarishat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya* **Saghar they said drink O’ respected And with the care for their wishes, I drank** — Translated by Jamil Hussain, Poet Saghar Siddiqui, Sung by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
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Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 6:08 AM UTC
I Drank
1. Such vehemence For immigrants Border patrol Vigilance I never knew A human being Could be illegal 2. A child should never be taught to hate And human beings must never be insulated Or inoculated against the horrors of war 3. There is no liberation in this economy Debt is a slower and slightly grayer Variation of slavery No more cotton fields but prison labor Tell me where is our great modern emancipator?
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Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
Three Fragments
the child recieves his paper ****** backward by the one in front flip the three pages flippantly one : intimidating . . two : boring the third adorned unexpectedly a longer -than seems can be usually- grown hair with a clump of green root sprung out and slaughtered, down across the width; stuck above the questions beneath how could he not have seen? a pile so viscous and obscene? does everyone else have one??? are they holding their disgust beneath? he looked up at the teacher. A look of vigilance his face bequeathed. B  ut now it sprung out almost pus like a faint smile,         a teachers calm reprieve he then leaned back on his chair in comfort drooping his head back his nostrils flared now toward the child the hairs brustling from inside, all locked up in a ***** days remnants all foul            and long and dehydrated     like a swamp now sunned crisp; reeds on a stale bank drawn in he felt uneasy unable to cease to stare incased inside the world that spawned in the swamp that lay up there in the cavernous orifices there then he saw the teachers eyes, his gaze it stuck on him, the teacher began to grin further back his head leant his eyes jaundiced his teeth tanned his face pale his grin outstretched and thin
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Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 6:38 AM UTC
nose
I watch the surfers Sleek black forms Bobbing up and down Odd cormorants Flocking here Waiting A New England rarity Good surf On a bright summer day How long have they waited A life of Vigilance And anticipation I wonder Why they pass On wave after wave Opportunities lost Having waited so long From my view Up on high Their mistakes are Laid bare Future and past A Rolling set They wait Adrift ocean of time Until the right wave Comes And carries them Into the present
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Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 7:21 AM UTC
Time surfers
I was raised on the ways of the Wolf. I applied these ways to the best of my ability. Only to be set loose to live amongst the sheep. Where my ways were considered savage and unreasonable. I turned to the Poppy and the ***** I was insearch of a temporary sanctuary from the  past misdeeds replaying themselves inside my head. Only at a later age did I come to understand these wounds that still bleed leave trails full of wasted years, lost lovers and forgotten hopes and dreams. I counted the Black and Whites as they passed me by. I tried to melt into the crowd. The vigilance and anger in my heart refused to walk amongst the live stock. For I was raised as one with brother Wolf. I needed to run on the outside of their invisible bindings. I died everyday for 3 years . I pulled from the ***** then turned to the poem and discovered a new way to torture my  mind while healing the heart. I dropped the mask I had wore for so many of these theatrical years. I set about revealing hearts blood and fractured bone. I ripped the inside of me out and presented it as treasure. Only to find the masses are indeed too much like sheep. Never understanding the manners of the wolf....
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Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
A Wolf in Blue Collared Clothing
Nails in pocket For future fastening Of repellence on wood Legs twisted, stiff, that Forgot how to follow In any other way than Swaying in the wind Hay hair shining in Sunlight less every time The dustbowl hits Rags around lumps, Stakes, rakes Make for inadequate Facade of waking From afar well placed, At ease, maybe Somewhat untidy, But balanced, stable At a distance, listening One might even hear A raspy voice whispering Wind to wood, Promises of movement Mistake a hollow stare For vigilance But with senses obsolete Inertia well-rewarded Mere being never sufficed But for here and now
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Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
The Scarecrow
Tes pas, enfants de mon silence, Saintement, lentement placés, Vers le lit de ma vigilance Procèdent muets et glacés. Personne pure, ombre divine, Qu’ils sont doux, tes pas retenus ! Dieux !… tous les dons que je devine Viennent à moi sur ces pieds nus ! Si, de tes lèvres avancées, Tu prépares pour l’apaiser, À l’habitant de mes pensées La nourriture d’un baiser, Ne hâte pas cet acte tendre, Douceur d’être et de n’être pas, Car j’ai vécu de vous attendre, Et mon coeur n’était que vos pas. In English: Your footsteps, children of my silence, Saintly, slowly placed Towards the bed of my watchfulness, Approach, muted and frozen. Pure one, divine shadow, How gentle, your cautious steps are! Gods! …all the gifts that I can guess Come to me on those naked feet! If, with your lips advancing, You are preparing to appease The inhabitant of my thoughts With the sustenance of a kiss, Do not hurry this tender act, Bliss of being and not being, For I have lived for waiting for you, And my heart was only your footsteps.
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Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
Les Pas by Paul Valéry
i caught a glimpse of your alluring eyes but you swiveled them away with no sign of vigilance within and all of a sudden an indescribably pain grew in intensity inside of me.
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Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 8:23 AM UTC
indescribable
Sometime I am in confusion because, In my room there is a portrait on the wall and the picture Sometime smiles give me applause, sometimes smiles and condemn me, Sometime smile and Question me ! When share it to my Fellows they tell me ‘You are lucky, Somebody is there to caution you’! One of them asked ‘Who is he?’ Really I don’t know! But always alert me! Everyone laughs and said ‘You are living with your scruples’!
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Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 10:43 AM UTC
Icon of vigilance
1202 The Frost was never seen— If met, too rapid passed, Or in too unsubstantial Team— The Flowers notice first A Stranger hovering round A Symptom of alarm In Villages remotely set But search effaces him Till some retrieveless Night Our Vigilance at waste The Garden gets the only shot That never could be traced. Unproved is much we know— Unknown the worst we fear— Of Strangers is the Earth the Inn Of Secrets is the Air— To analyze perhaps A Philip would prefer But Labor vaster than myself I find it to infer.
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The Frost was never seen—
So fine, the slender votive silence of palms, open to the torn banners of rain, so tender, such surrender in the gesture of hands... You pour so much of your red earth, to soothe and loosen the tongue from its leather tomb and adorn me with a lighter burden, too much mine, at one with the dark, lavish earth in all its sorrow, spun of the sleek commotion of silk and vanilla linens... I leaned into the ******* of my wings, honed from those muscular fairy-tale dreams... My mouth, learned solely on a valentine's shiny white kiss of hemlock, humming into the cells of the spellbound body, quelled by vigilance, your lips teach me now, how to go softly over the red earth of dahlias, in all their everlastings, your hands deep in the soil, reap... The resonating grail of memory, kept in its rich loam and coals spread over my mouth of red, red clay, so swells its golden hue of rose and rhododendron, too much mine, rising its fevers in the fawn brown of eyes, closed ... Over this long, shuddering quiet, you come in all your calico to calm the votive silence of palms, cupped in the earth of your hands, so much mine....
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Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
Votive Silence:
I am perching I am searching Sitting still My mind filled With the vigilance Of a militant Looking to invade By throwing grenades And committing atrocities At a high velocity Yet I'm made to lay and wait My love feels like hate Stuck in this crate It's getting late My feral fate Makes me shake Like the love intake That makes me break When you're raising the stakes I see your fin in the water Moving in for the slaughter Acting like a shark You go dark Like a silent submarine You float near the bottom Your gun is submachine That's how you caught them Now it's my turn For a bullet burn Treat me like a ***** distractor You're a fractured compactor Leaving me partially intact But most of me I lack After your attack I should thank you for taking out the trash But I could've done without the clash Because now I'm just a pile of ash Stuck in a bird cage At an increased age If I become a phoenix and rise It'll be an imprisoned surprise I thought I had prepared Yet now I need repairs When it's my love I share And it's casually broken To be used as a token You must be joking There's no way I could've ever prepared For the fact that no one ever cared
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Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 5:14 AM UTC
Prepared
If I stole your art, could you blame me? The melodic curves or rhythmic edges, organic pastels, or heart-throbbing neon, awake as the eyes that envisioned them. My muses all run to you with eager, little fingers, pinching and plucking at your sketches, protruding tongues, and rolling sneaky, spiteful eyes in my direction, ******* on your creations with humming bird vigilance.
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Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 9:14 PM UTC
Banksy
The fearless ones are fanning out into the woods. Others are huddled in smartly constructed camouflaged blinds. These self styled eco-warriors brave the cold and the discomforts of inclement weather. They keep a watchful eye over the stale remains of Dunkin Donuts, bagels and bacon grease they cleverly scattered outside their deadly bivouac. These bold ones eagerly finger the barrels of their high powered rifles, palming the smooth wooden stocks with warm naked hands. They itch to squeeze the trigger but discipline and fortitude inform the vigilance of these sentinels of sustainability. They philosophically muse about restorative balance and the paradox of killing in order to survive. Another day has broken over the New Jersey Highlands. The hunt for bear is on. Let the mammalian cleansing begin. jbm Oakland 12/6/10 Music Suggestion: Radiohead, Hunting Bears
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Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 9:02 AM UTC
Mammalian Cleansing
Vigilance, sentinel. Vigilance… The moment you close your eyes, you let dreams in. But I am done. I vaporize all worries and cares, I disconnect from all earthbound tethers. I will fly. Nowhere to go but up, nothing to lose, and nothing to fear. - The first steps to freedom are always the hardest. To obtain true freedom, you must make certain sacrifices… like security. To grow strong means to build a castle around your infant self, to lock the door and hurl the key far out, over the castle walls. It is to the distant hope that an innocent someone, will disregard every brick. And walk right in with the key. N.H.
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Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 1:18 AM UTC
Relax
In a distant dystopia, it towers above all. It radiates a dim blue glow, that Transfixes eyes and minds alike. Pulling with the gravity of 20,000 suns, Its force cannot be rivaled. An irresistible, iridescent abomination, and An admonition unto the autonomy of thought. Weaving tapestries of illusory illustrations, Into the indigent intellect of its unsuspecticng viewers. It's images penetrate the psyche like magic, as Minds are manipulated into the madness, of Mass consumption of manufactured "needs." Its reporters replace reason with rhetoric, for Objectivity is no obeject in an age of sound bites. It demonizes difference, distracts, and desensitizes. Apathy becomes queen, and facile pleasures become king. Remember your vigilance.
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Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 4:40 AM UTC
The Tyrannical Screen
Calm, sad, secure; behind high convent walls, These watch the sacred lamp, these watch and pray: And it is one with them when evening falls, And one with them the cold return of day. These heed not time; their nights and days they make Into a long returning rosary, Whereon their lives are threaded for Christ's sake; Meekness and vigilance and chastity. A vowed patrol, in silent companies, Life-long they keep before the living Christ. In the dim church, their prayers and penances Are fragrant incense to the Sacrificed. Outside, the world is wild and passionate; Man's weary laughter and his sick despair Entreat at their impenetrable gate: They heed no voices in their dream of prayer. They saw the glory of the world displayed; They saw the bitter of it, and the sweet; They knew the roses of the world should fade, And be trod under by the hurrying feet. Therefore they rather put away desire, And crossed their hands and came to sanctuary And veiled their heads and put on coarse attire: Because their comeliness was vanity. And there they rest; they have serene insight Of the illuminating dawn to be: Mary's sweet Star dispels for them the night, The proper darkness of humanity. Calm, sad, secure; with faces worn and mild: Surely their choice of vigil is the best? Yea! for our roses fade, the world is wild; But there, beside the altar, there is rest.
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Nuns Of The Perpetual Adoration
The men kept to themselves: they were waiting for the swiftness of the last cyclists. The women kept to themselves: they were expecting the death of a boy on a Japanese schooner. They all kepy to themselves- dreaming of the open beaks of dying birds, the sharp parasol that punctures a recently flattened toad, beneath silence with a thousand ears and tiny mouths of water in the canyons that resist the violent attack on the moon. The boy on the schooner was crying and hearts were breaking in anguish for the witness and vigilance of all things, and because of the sky blue ground of black footprints, obscure names, saliva, and chrome radios were still crying. It doesn't matter if the boy grows silent when stuck with the last pin, or if the breeze is defeated in cupped cotton flowers, because there is a world of death whose perpetual sailors will appear in the arches and freeze you from behind the trees. it's useless to look for the bend where night loses its way and to wait in ambush for a silence that has no torn clothes, no shells, and no tears, because even the tiny banquet of a spider is enough to upset the entire equilibrium of the sky. There is no cure for the moaning from a Japanese schooner, nor for those shadowy people who stumble on the curbs. The countryside bites its own tail in order to gather a bunch of roots and a ball of yarn looks anxiously in the grass for unrealized longitude. The Moon! The police. The foghorns of the ocean liners! Facades of ***** of smoke, anemones, rubber gloves. Everything is shattered in the night that spread its legs on the terraces. Everything is shatter in the tepid faucets of a terrible silent fountain. Oh, crowds! Loose women! Soldiers! We will have to journey through the eyes of idiots, open country where the docile cobras, coiled like wire, hiss, landscapes full of graves that yield the freshest apples, so that uncontrollable light will arrive to frighten the rich behind their magnifying glasses- the odor of a single corpse from the double source of lily and rat- and so that fire will consume those crowds still able to **** around a moan or on the crystals in which each inimitable wave is understood.
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Landscape of a ******* Multitude
The men kept to themselves: they were waiting for the swiftness of the last cyclists. The women kept to themselves: they were expecting the death of a boy on a Japanese schooner. They all kepy to themselves- dreaming of the open beaks of dying birds, the sharp parasol that punctures a recently flattened toad, beneath silence with a thousand ears and tiny mouths of water in the canyons that resist the violent attack on the moon. The boy on the schooner was crying and hearts were breaking in anguish for the witness and vigilance of all things, and because of the sky blue ground of black footprints, obscure names, saliva, and chrome radios were still crying. It doesn't matter if the boy grows silent when stuck with the last pin, or if the breeze is defeated in cupped cotton flowers, because there is a world of death whose perpetual sailors will appear in the arches and freeze you from behind the trees. it's useless to look for the bend where night loses its way and to wait in ambush for a silence that has no torn clothes, no shells, and no tears, because even the tiny banquet of a spider is enough to upset the entire equilibrium of the sky. There is no cure for the moaning from a Japanese schooner, nor for those shadowy people who stumble on the curbs. The countryside bites its own tail in order to gather a bunch of roots and a ball of yarn looks anxiously in the grass for unrealized longitude. The Moon! The police. The foghorns of the ocean liners! Facades of ***** of smoke, anemones, rubber gloves. Everything is shattered in the night that spread its legs on the terraces. Everything is shatter in the tepid faucets of a terrible silent fountain. Oh, crowds! Loose women! Soldiers! We will have to journey through the eyes of idiots, open country where the docile cobras, coiled like wire, hiss, landscapes full of graves that yield the freshest apples, so that uncontrollable light will arrive to frighten the rich behind their magnifying glasses- the odor of a single corpse from the double source of lily and rat- and so that fire will consume those crowds still able to **** around a moan or on the crystals in which each inimitable wave is understood.
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**** Damakta, Zulf Ghaneri* Rangin Lab, Ankhein Jadu Body aflame and curling of locks so thick Colourful lips and eyes so charming Sang-e-Marmar, Uda Badal Surḳh Shafaq, Hairan Aahu Ivory stone altering so royal-mauve Evening twilight so red and dazzled gazelles Raatein Mahki, Sansein Dahki Nazrein Bahki, Rut Lahki Fragrant nights and sighs kindling Glances intoxicating, season so blooming Prem Khilauna, Sapn Salona Phul Bichhauna, Vo Pahlu Game of love, stunning dreams Flowers spreading, O’ that view Tum Se Duri, Ye Majburi Zaḳhm-e-Kari, Bedari Away from you, so helpless Penetrating wound and no vigilance Tanha Raatein, Sapne Katein Khud Se Batien, Meri Khu Lonely nights and biting dreams Talking to self, my habit so new ✒ Translated by ℐamil Hussain , Sung by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
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Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 12:10 PM UTC
B O D Y Aflame
Corruption- please go away with your notion Our mission is to make us a no bribe nation So far, you made our life miserable and full of suffocation -Corruption- have you ever seen our determination? Now, we are in full of action And Throw you out with our inner-transformation -Corruption- Don't dare to enter into our nation With our good value system and education We are sure, can stop corruption Encouragement of Currency-free banking and cashless transaction Can you dare to come to our imagination? With vibrant leaders and Vigilance Commission People have speedy justice and much satisfaction Corruption, it is our war against your creation With Community Participation And having the "Right to Information" There is fair chance of weeding out the corruption Again, guard with digitization and automation Make you dead before germination With Honesty, truthfulness and against temptations Certainly, together, make Nigeria a corruption free nation Sarcasm The fragrance pen
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Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 3:27 AM UTC
Rejecting the corruption
I think about my birth, my gift of life gave you pain, I think about the people in my life...some leave me but you always remain, Even when I am your source of grief my joy is at the top of your list. Even if you are cold to the bone, keeping me warm you can't resist. You're the epitome of sacrifice, a close definition of love. When I see you being selfless I see that there really is God above. I see Him perform His acts through you, As you care for me and my sister too. Through being human, through being emotionally blind, I had failed to see the truth, I had shutters on my mind, But through some miracle, through some inexplicable event, I finally see what I was supposed to see-something even my ignorance couldn't prevent. You are a rare gem, you are a bright beacon in a storm of darkness, You are my favourite poem-all of you, including your bluntness. All of my success I owe to you and your perseverance, I owe it to your love, your attention and your constant vigilance. Your prayers were not in vain; I will be worth all that pain, Through what won't come and what may, By your side, Mom, I'll forever remain.
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Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
Every Day Is Mother's Day