She dances in my gaze like a grain of snow She glides through my eyes like dew on the stem of a leaf She moves with grace in my gaze like the sun rising from behind the mountains in winter She kindles fire in my heart the whole of being and leaving of my beloved Poet: myself
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Whats my score @neynar ?
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Where mourners are answered with bullets, death is no longer an end it becomes policy A regime that fears tears buried its soul long ago and now leans on the corpse of power In this land, grief is a crime, silence a survival tactic But history listens And wounds have a voice.
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