clock is tickin
oh my
clock is
ticking
و هر قطره ای که از من رفته را
احساس می کنم
دانه دانه ی چیزهای رفته را
مثل اینکه ذره ذره کسی
تکه های لخته را
کنده باشد از پوست
درد در نهایت آرامی
درد ان
لحظه لحظه آغاز می شود نو
“The lines understood and no one made a move to
touch Don Faustino and, with his hands shaking and held in front of his eyes, and
with his mouth moving, he walked along between the lines." (For whom the bell tolls, Hemingway)
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