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Solitude

Solitude

The voice of beauty speaks softly; it creeps only into the most fully awakened souls. – Nietzsche

In my solitude all the time,

I write to you about each moment

Of enlightenment and disgust

And describe you my recent works.

I experiment with my coffee and verse,

By mixing Kafka, Bukowski, and Eliot

Like cinnamon in coffee thinking,

It would smell like a winter morning.

While working on a rich tapestry of words,

I wonder whether that too

Would be halved with you!

Since these are my jewels,

And the resulting verse my silk.

Would you find these praiseworthy?

Or would you frown upon these fineries

Like others deeming it as whimsical,

And things of bygone era.

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