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It doesn’t matter how many years I have passed breathing oxygen 

What matters is my urge to play with the wind
as I oscillate through the swing 

And the force with which I exhale out my laughter

when those voices tickles my senses

And I feel as if I am still roaming around
In the streets of my childhood 

Somewhere looking for those pebbles
That were actual treasures of my li...

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short poem

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