White Life
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The black hands of death,
cannot hold the white thread of life.
The blowing wind will not pave way to snatch the memories.
The rising waves will never allow to immerse the footprints.
And the mountains will hold high to my spirit.
The clouds will carry these thoughts all across the world
And they will shower it time and again.
And I will emerge by becoming a rainbow sometimes.
Perhaps, those black hands will never catch the silver lines again.
Bu şiiri puanla
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