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urdu poetry

dort durch das Fenster im alten Haus
weich als das Bett in der Masse
Gott
weich weinend
zwischen den musing Sonnenuntergang und die Dunkelheit
für dann außen
unten gekommen an der Dämmerung von den windless Hügeln
ich brenne keinen Duft
wenig Park, den ich durch führe
zweifellos erinnere mich ich noch
Massentravails
er würde sogar seinen Witz haben

 



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