When I lost it
All was lost for me
It was blue and I was blue when I was left alone without it
All my days depended on it
I could no longer write without it
It was what made my writings possible
The essence of writing it was
My Staedtler mechanical pencil
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Boredom
Boredom is all I have seen these days It goes on and on and never ends Days come and go with nothing new All the same and news is few ...
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This is a poem I have written in honor of my 4 years of studying English literature in Persian Gulf University. Here we go: Four years...
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I was a young boy passing by Saw a madman crossing by Cut the corner to evade His wild acts that made me fear But the madman could be me...
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To call it perfection, no, that’s not it That dark brown skin is like no other That hue puts fear in the hearts of men No other creature ...
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