
Prayers are symphonies of lamentation That begin from my mother’s lips, Like a bird beginning a day’s death, With a humming song of woes. She says she fears for the devils Whose tongues carry the blood Of homeless lads on their lips, Like an eagle clawing a chick. Every sound her palms clasp Carry the […]
from Brittle Paper http://ift.tt/2oXQHEH
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