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Nadia Khomami

Oh Man

Oh man
What are you but flowing rivers
And record players
Slowly gathering dust
In the corner of my
quiet room?

What are you but moans,
Visions of a life
Not yet lived
But foredoomed?

And man,
When will the angelic chorus’ play?
I shall moan tonight
Like no other,
With suitcase in hand,
Heavy with the burdens
Of yesteryear’s
Indifference.

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