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I spill my thoughts onto sheets of white
Lately, my passion lies in poetry’s embrace,
Quenching my soul’s thirst in this sacred space.
The newborn’s cries inspire the lines I weave,
Leaving them behind, in their form, I believe.
My heart is torn, in tatters and frayed,
I write my verses with a shaky hand laid.
One day, this paper, with my thoughts laid bare,
Will be cast aside, as if no one would care.
I spill my thoughts onto sheets of white,
Relentlessly, my pen takes flight.
If I fail to share what’s in my mind,
Is there any use for paper left behind?
Copyright ©
Aibek Kalmaganbetov
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