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“In the thirst, I hear soundless whispers, music of the wild winds. As the valley of grief hums a song, and stones break into roses. The frigid sadness burns through the layers of clouds, And slowly I recognize, my soul of light.” — Jayita Bhattacharjee
In the thirst, I hear soundless whispers, music of the wild winds.
As the valley of grief hums a song, and stones break into roses.
The frigid sadness burns through the layers of clouds,
And slowly I recognize, my soul of light.