I Stop the eye now catching rye of Morning in slosh of rum dust ten Feet apart they ablute; libation Rented cheap by the two dozen, a Full meal, a night's peace, then And now; alone you pick the fars And the nears as the center grav Itates, hovers, plumbs; depth ah II Justice cannot eat itself anymore Than a poem cannibalize the riffs Standing alone in the bazaar, hey You, yes you! Catch the bite held Now tight by its act of whatthefk
The upper bound to depth of smile is three fourths an untethered soul; the trailing fourth fodder for maya's sulfurous appetite. The lower bound is the privileged unsoul uberfold.
riqqat ki kami / shor ki hawis / faasla maddham
chaarha raqs / tapish kum Khush / daftar-e-jaana