I write so that the light, at the tunnel’s end, won’t die. The loaf cheers the glory of the blood spilled around it; the stones have a savor and color; the flowers have the kiss’s weight.
I write so the friend won’t die forever; no tree bends or a bud withers; no datepalm sinks in the landfill of oblivion, no ink or rain or spring dries; no man despairs, or a lover’s prayer goes unheard. I write to tell the wind, “I’m your brother in storm, the igniter of the first spark, the keeper of thunder the guard of the trail.”
So that the Butterfly Won’t Die
3.300
So that the Butterfly Won’t Die
I write so that the light, at the tunnel’s end, won’t die. The loaf cheers the glory of the blood spilled around it; the stones have a savor and color; the flowers have the kiss’s weight.
I write so the friend won’t die forever; no tree bends or a bud withers; no datepalm sinks in the landfill of oblivion, no ink or rain or spring dries; no man despairs, or a lover’s prayer goes unheard. I write to tell the wind, “I’m your brother in storm, the igniter of the first spark, the keeper of thunder the guard of the trail.”
3.300
تقييمات العملاء
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