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It isn't about love, religion, God or global warming. It's just two people dying at the end of the world, in a big city (London, for me.) And it's rat..
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A recognition to how the forgotten dead are remembered. As cliché as it sounds.
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This is a non-traditional ghazal about how I sometimes feel as a child, combined with a maternal instinct and pressures to one day be a mother.
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Written for a "science/poetry" competition at school. Based on how (in one way or another) almost every atom has been turned into what it is by stars...
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