A mosque is a rose.
We look up at the sky, describe the pictures in the clouds.
What is paradise? It is a scorching fire.
Ashes of roses.
He wept at the door, it was a shabby-looking place,
an end of terrace.
The Earth is a mosque, but its petals are shattered.
from Alcoholic Rose Gardener
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1 comment:
Thanks for wriiting
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