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Time is in the Clocks

Time is creeping on the walls
In the clocks
Time is not on the sun
On its molten surface
Only madness runs
Without moments
Without conjunction
Between an imagination of a boiling aroma
And the reality that defies the satisfaction
The whole illusion
Of more than what happened
Is time……
In the false reflection of its proven fact
I am born, done and died
Countable! I am….
Time is not in the fallow might of the stars
It is never been a spy in the skies
Time is inside my heart’s ambiguous rhymes
Just a flutter of mortality
It is just a cry.

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