We tend to reduce things:
Books to pages,
Sentences to words,
Eaons to ages.
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Miles of sand and stone. A sight alone.
Mountains of mist. Alone I list.
The sights I see. Only me.
With no other. None to call brother.
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Young man, why do you look so old?
I'm not sure; it must be my beard,
Or the many strange stories I've told.
No; it must be this hat, it looks weird.
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</>Why should I write an English poem,
When the English write their own?
Why should I seek the symbol's hope,
When I've never met the pope?
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You tell me I've changed,
I can see you are right.
Your tongue do restrain,
I do not want to fight.
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I remember days
when I sat alone
In the dark,
with savage beasts
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Ndincwela ubuciko
boku cengeleza...
Ndichwetha ubuchwepheshe
...
Ngubani uNelson Mandela?
Nduxoleleni ndizibona ndibuza
Bath' ungubani ngesiLungu?
...
Iphupha elizolileyo,
Iintupha ezomileyo,
Ulwimi olunxaniweyo,
Isizwe esoniweyo.
...
Love is a different thing
A funny thing
A piece of string
A wedding ring
...