adrift upon the four winds,
were your romantic evasive words,
by which you immersed
the grazing herds,
into empty symbolism and myth.
I was gassed to death
by cupid's baby breath
any sensibility suffocated by
plastic consumerist lullabies.
I let passion claim our souls
in return for a good ending -
and drawn-in roles.
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27th of Ramadan
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