What good is a life, that is unaware of comfortable silences?
What else remains after the unashamed parade of vain senses?
What word play shall I stitch to thank those pools that look back at me,
Oblivious of the gift they have become to a nomad's fragmented existences.
What else remains after the unashamed parade of vain senses?
What word play shall I stitch to thank those pools that look back at me,
Oblivious of the gift they have become to a nomad's fragmented existences.
....
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