Rain falls
but it does not touch your hidden face.
The uncensored grimaces of your feelings
become lost in an elaborately etched ancient face mask.
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Kelly must have seen in this poem the talent I saw in the previous poem of yours, dear Stavro.
No one can mark poetry with borders or skin color or any other tangible or countable humans' rusty stereotypes. Because of that, poetry can only be visible by senses and that's why no one can fully understand another's poem. From the expressions of the poem though, the poet unmasks himself and anyone who can sense that can understand it. The feeling of seeing people being moved by your work is priceless. Thank you all.