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Ghazal 21 The dew on red petals is not without meaning the spot on her heart where shame has passed Dove is a handful of ash the nightingale a prison of color to these the scar of a burnt heart is nothing The fire itself could not do what lust for fire has the heart has suffered waiting and fading The claim to be love's prisoner is a consequence of constraint only a hand trapped by stone can promise its faithfulness Sun of our world illuminate us now like a shadow a strange time has come upon us |