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urdu poetry

morbidamente piangendo
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
fiori dei bambini
siete bei e sbiaditi
i giorni malinconici sono venuto
amico, di cui il sorriso č venuto essere
li prevedo
le veritŕ terribili questi sono
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes
il piů triste dell'anno
morbido come la base nella terra
sotto un albero di diffusione della castagna

 



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