"is it not surprising"
with hands swept north,
as the colour ran from her cheeks.
disappeared, now, within the garden unseen.
her tresses flowed around corners
as if courting her leave
to the world of the silent walls.
whispering voices greet and offer prayer rugs
to all friends of yasin.
she chose green, is it not surprising.
`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
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