that the destiny looses the address of my love;
and the ageless letters of my age keeps on crying.
The end is
that you have written every letters of your age
and the address gets lost in oblivion.
Its not the end
that the wreckless thorns of sociability
puts you to bleed.
The end is
that you bleeding legs stands still
and there are no roads beyond .
Its not the end
that for your body sans love
you keep on stitching songs.
The end is
that the thread of ideas
misses the stitching needle.
good evening and a very happy new year.
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