The Beauty
The beauty, more covetable than the charm of breasts
Of a pretty woman, hidden somewhere in this world
Or in the dreams of a poet, yet to come;
In search of that beauty and Its pleasure, still I walk
Throughout this life where tyranny is the only pride
Of the rulers; still I digging my own body
Until and unless I find the center of the bones
And I've touched the nothingness-points of
Roses and all the flowers that smiling with deception
And on the peak of so called achievement hills
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