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Like beads of pearls
scattered on a polished
marble grounds, my
soul disintegrated into
thousand parts unknown,
scattered, knowing that
cancer of rage has spread,
the lumps of gloom are
growing, I a scavenger
picked on the left-over
carcasses once a
live breathing body
where blood flew like
streams of Tigris
now lay blue, cold
limpless, still pieces
have to be sorted-out
sown delicately like a
Necklace of pearls,
worn on dark evenings
to hide gaunt neckline
devoid of any bloods
of forefathers, where
once flew gushing
streams of Tigris….