We the little
We the meat
We the metal
No names for our faces
...
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what a brilliant poem, it breathes in my heart like the flower of Crysanthmum, that never ceases to dart from my space of vast barren yet fertile consciousness. bravo. let Hemkund Sahib bloom every where.
what a brilliant poem, superb, freinds perhaps turn into enimies, does love? does it have a enemy counter point? your poem gives me the differential insignt between freindship and love. bravo.