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urdu poetry

those black eyes i once so praised
braided and woven
my soul is a dark ploughed field
two rows of cabbages
high walls and huge
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
tell me
beneath my window in a city street
there is a city, builded by no hand
in all things not spoken of
and how could you dream of meeting
the air is full of dawn and spring
i reside at table mountain
when i was broke in london

 



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