Whenever I write my poems on paper,
My pen is my companion, my paper—a friend.
Alas, they do not know the feelings I hide,
Perhaps that’s why my pen’s tip always breaks.
I tear the paper, wounding its heart,
I press the pen as if it’s the one to blame.
Today’s mood is as heavy as the falling rain,
As if the paper knows my love for pain.
Xasanova Aziza Kumushbek . student of Tashkent University of Economics and Pedagogy.
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