"sonnet34"
as mortals die a dusty death
in blood, a finger paints which breath;
it crosses every cheekbone high
or turns and twists within the lie.
life's joy when on the quiet path
`tis in the sound of silent wrath;
a mind so calm yet savage soul
keeps all at bay with skilled control.
in chaos, are two kinds of men
the kind that drown remaining penned
they hold a knife no skill in strike
save for the surface then to flight.
two faces to invert the bowl
unless the other story's told.
shukran Sahib, mum
`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
21mar09
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