No other poem will be born from my pain,
As I lay down my hands in the cold of shame.
The suffocated heart has killed the poetic soul,
Lyrics of my life don’t rhyme anymore.
No more teardrops wait for a knock on the door,
Lonely footsteps die away in the sea shore;
The morning blues stay till the sunset
Celebrating the pitiless death of a nameless poet…
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