Even the gatherings do not adorn my ointment,

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Even the gatherings do not adorn my ointment, 


No one plays, 
Moments complain, 
Questions are from fame, 
Forgetting now true love, 
No one expresses empty life,
There is only convenience, 
Where is the custom of persecution?  
I have not celebrated, 
so now no one likes or loves, 
no one understands who is in my fate, 
I am whose reality, here is blank paper, nobody tells.


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