I am neither the light of anyone's eyes, nor the peace of anyone's heart
I am a handful of dust that cannot be of any use
my appearance has deteriorated and My time has left me
I am the spring crop of the garden
which was destroyed by the rain
I am not the song of life, what will anyone do after hearing me
I am of the great sick, I am always the call of the great sad

© Holywine
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