Ode
Ataraxia
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Free fly the seagulls,
they're white on the geometrical spatial line of many many lands,
plumed voyagers, noble gipsies,
nomads only at the price of their plumes,
vanishing at the surface of the water on the vertex of dots.
Far away, far away in time
he had a body and a mouth
far away, far away in time
beyond the opaque padded border line
free fly the seagulls...
Grey silent sky, flight of gulls skimming over the sea.
I miss...
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