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Gabeba Baderoon
The Art of Living

Of all things I do not wish to know
death whispers to me this terrible secret:

I will never know joy
except in its departure.

I will not know you
except in traces

once you have gone.

The warmth is leaving
your shirt, hanging over
the back of the chair.

Slowly it is giving back
everything it had of yours.

Gabeba Baderoon

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