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şeirlər poems
III
The moonlight trickles down
Through the window of a palm seize.
And every night
A child as white as milk
With an angel face would look inside
Through the iron window.
The warm breath of that child
With an angel face
Would come in.
Through the window of a palm seize
And warm up his “room”,
And would hide his room
From the eyes of death...
So, in warm and cold weather
One may survive for twenty years
With a sweet hope...
In a small room
Of a narrow width and longitude.
IV
When I throw a stone
It would not reach to its target…
…When I cry
My tears will evaporate…
Rain drops would hit
That closed window
But it won’t be opened.
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