Poem Hunter
The Spirit
(13 May 1977 / Swabi)

The Spirit

Is there any thing that is immortal
And mysterious like the waves
Silence like death
Smooth like light
Dangerous like fear
Beautiful like the spring
We can not touch it
We cannot grasp it
In our little hands it plays
The game of life and death
The heart beating can't tell
The eye cannot catch it
On the horizons it spreads
On the beach it meets
In the dark it goes
No bounds it has
What a mysterious thing it is!

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