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Native Language By Rasul Gamzatov

Native language
Always all in a dream is a ridiculous is and strange.
An asleep was me today my death.
There is in the afternoon heat in the valley of Dagestan
With a lead in the breast I was lying motionless.

A rings river runs un-hartable.
Forgotten and I did not need to anyone
I was flattened on a dear earth
Before being myself a ground.
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Sunday, December 8, 2013
Topic(s) of this poem: life
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