Assassinated poems
Fumes choked me.
Mordant taste
lingered in my mouth.
I cried:
I hate this war!
Salvaged their ashes,
A baking ore.
I wrapped them up
in a costly shirt,
I never wore.
Walked half exposed,
A hundred miles
and more.
Towards
the bustling market,
Where hides a lone store.
I bought them
this yellow urn.
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| oldmedina | 
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