An endless series of skies
Where there is no air.
An inner urge compels me to bring down
A garland of poems
To worship You.
The shrine is now all empty.
Where there is no air.
An inner urge compels me to bring down
A garland of poems
To worship You.
The shrine is now all empty.
I wish to fill it;
I wish to cover it with poems.
A garland of poems.
I know that it is only in this way
That I can forget my life’s sufferings and joys
That have to be forgotten.
I wish to cover it with poems.
A garland of poems.
I know that it is only in this way
That I can forget my life’s sufferings and joys
That have to be forgotten.
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