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262 ʣʩʬ ʱʰʨʡʩʬʲʢ ʯ‫ٷ‬ʮ ʲ˝ˌ ʯʢʲʥʥ ʸʲʨʸʲʥʥ ʲʸʩʠ ʯʬˋ˦ ʯʢʲʸ ʯʫʩʩʬʡ ʭʲʣ ʨʩʮ ʲʸ , ʯʨʶʲʬ ʭʲʣ ʭʲʣ ʯʢʲʥʥ ʯʥʠ ʪʥʡʸʲʣʩʬ , ʩʦ ʡʩʬ ʪʩʠ ʩʶ . ˋ ʬˌʮ ˋ ʦʩʠ ʪʲʬʰ‫˝ٷ‬ ʩʥʥ ʯʲʩʥʸ˦ ʲʰ‫˦ٷ‬ - ʲʮʩʨʹ . ʬʩʨʹ ʦʩʠ ʵʸˋʤ ʯ‫ٷ‬ʮ . ʯʢ‫ٷ‬ʥʥʹ ʯʱʩʥʸʢ ʭʲʣ ʯʥ˦ ʭʲʨˌ ʯˋ ʯʩʡ ʪʩʠ . ʪʩʠ ʨʫˋʰ ʸʲʩʥʸʢ ʸʲʣ ʯʩʠ ʯ˝ˌʸʨ ˋ ʯʩʡ . ʸʲʸʨ ˋ ʯʩʡ ʪʩʠ , ʨʬˋ˦ ʱʠʥʥ ʨʰʥʸʢ˝ˌ ʯʩʠ ʨʫˋʰ ʸʲʣ ʯʥ˦ , ʯʢ‫ٷ‬ʥʥʹ ʯʩʠ . ʲʮʩʨʹ ʲʫʩʩʥʥ ʩʣ ʨʰʩʩʥʥ ʯʢʲʸ ʯʫʩʩʬʡ ʭʲʣ ʯʩʠ : “ ʩʦ ʪʩʠ ʡʩʬ ʩʶ ? ” ʯ‫ٷ‬ʮ ʲʡʩʬ , ʣʩʮ ʯʩʡ ʪʩʠ . “ ʸʲʮ ʨʩʰ ʡʩʬ ʪʩʠ ? ” ˌ , ʲʡʩʬ ʯʥ˦ ʣʩʮ ʯʩʡ ʪʩʠ . ʬʩʨʹ ʦʩʠ ʵʸˋʤ ʯ‫ٷ‬ʮ . ʯʲʩʥʸ˦ ʲʰ‫˦ٷ‬ ˋ ʬˌʮ ˋ ʦʩʠ ʪʲʬʰ‫˝ٷ‬ ʩʥʥ - ʲʮʩʨʹ . 263 MY LOVER’S POEM Her words fall along with the dull rain, about opera, the latest book of poetry and whether I love her. How painful sometimes is the fine voice of a woman. My heart is still. I am a breath of the great silence. I am a drop in the grey night. I am a tear that falls in the abyss of night, silently. In the dull rain, the soft voice weeps: “Do I love her?” My love, I’m weary. “I don’t love you anymore?” Oh, I’m weary of love. My heart is still. How painful sometimes is the fine voice of a woman. ...

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