Death.

Shall fly like high hovering Eagle that disappears in faraway horizon.
The horizon where his sky meets my earth,
The horizon where both the petals of my lips shall meet to remain forever quiet,
The horizon where the eyelids of my inquisitive eyes shall meet to remain forever blind.
No sudden fatal blow, no jet of blood will spout out my veins,
May be I shall be in my deep slumber; fortunate if I have no pain.
Alas, the grains of sand shall slip from the fist, whatever I do.
Attar has to be with the wind even if I try to hold it with a corkscrew

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