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The Arrows of the Words


Uzma Sadaf

Yours ill-prayers
Have grown thorns on my body
I have become restless
I donít find any patience any way.
The poison of your eyes stings me
The arrows of your words wound my heart
Your looks are like spears
There is not a place on my body
Which is not stung
And yours ill-prayers
Have made it full of thorns.

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