Friday, November 12, 2004

How are we, like
dead flowers
hung upon pendulums.
Our beginnings, directions
breeds, materials
our ends
our limits--all differ.
But in those moments
when our times meet,
don't we dream together?
Of dreams of living?

Perhaps.
Perhaps, we understand very well-
dreams of dead flowers
living.


Dead Flowers
Bilal Tanweer

Mina at 5:44 AM

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