To hang my self from my own breath,
Trying to yield hope into my stinking breath,
My breath has pores, pausing through the road way to my nostrils.
To dig a grave with your hands,
Staining your life with a grave scent,
Plucking Roses besides graves,
Just to further carry memories of our loved ones, who long departed from our palms.
MUMU DA POET
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