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urdu poetry

leave the lovely words unsaid
since i have felt the sense of death
in all things not spoken of
we lay
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
long ago, in the young moonlight
this is the arsenal
in your flight
darkest, strangest mystery
i heard the wind all day
i saw the clouds among the hills
the earth keeps some vibration going
we who stood
the meadow was creeping

 



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