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Young

When skies glance at the coolness of moonshine and butterflies kept in a dream smile till dawn, Do not forget… As long as you feel the brush of the evening’s wind coiling like a wild animal, You are as young

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Posted in Invisible stories, My poems, Wordsmith

“Language is not like the sun,
heating and scorching
but like the moon
keeping secrets
and the arcane magic of the night
throwing stars
in the lilacs’ claws
till dawn.” -Iulia Halatz

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