It has been a long time
Since the
Ink has done to a
paper
What spring does to
Neruda,
Because I am not
asking again
Who am I
Since the
Ink has done to a
paper
What spring does to
Neruda,
Because I am not
asking again
Who am I
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Into the flow of knowing, waters from unknown joins. But the only solace for self remains- it is all water.
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