writing conflicts
You have to kill him or convince him otherwise, thts the hassel with the democracy
quotation from some movie
-umair
This entry was posted on اپریل 15, 2008 at 5:11 pm and is filed under Philosphies.
Tags: democracy
Pretty interesting place you’ve got here.
Do lil ol’ me a favour; change the blog layout, it’s a tad tedious to read comfortably at the moment. =/
I think convincing part is better. Why to kill
Oh gentle winds ‘neath moonlit skies, Do not you hear my heartfelt cries?
Below the branches, here about, Do not you sense my fear and doubt? Side glistening rivers, sparkling streams, Do not you hear my woeful screams?
Upon the meadows, touched with dew, Do not you see my hearts a’skew? Beneath the thousand twinkling stars, Do not you feel my jagged scars?
Seek not my mournful heart kind breeze, For you’ll not find it ‘mongst these trees.
It’s scattered ‘cross the moonlit skies, Accompanied by heartfelt sighs. It’s drifting o’re the gentle rain, A symbol of my silent pain.
It’s buried ‘neath the meadow fair, Conjoined with all the sorrow there. It’s lost among the stars this night, Too far to ease my quiet fright.
No gentle winds, seek not my heart, For simply … it has torn apart.
quaid e azam was a democratic leader?
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اپریل 15, 2008 at 5:55 pm
Pretty interesting place you’ve got here.
Do lil ol’ me a favour; change the blog layout, it’s a tad tedious to read comfortably at the moment. =/
اپریل 16, 2008 at 7:47 pm
I think convincing part is better. Why to kill
اپریل 17, 2008 at 9:58 pm
Oh gentle winds ‘neath moonlit skies,
Do not you hear my heartfelt cries?
Below the branches, here about,
Do not you sense my fear and doubt?
Side glistening rivers, sparkling streams,
Do not you hear my woeful screams?
Upon the meadows, touched with dew,
Do not you see my hearts a’skew?
Beneath the thousand twinkling stars,
Do not you feel my jagged scars?
Seek not my mournful heart kind breeze,
For you’ll not find it ‘mongst these trees.
It’s scattered ‘cross the moonlit skies,
Accompanied by heartfelt sighs.
It’s drifting o’re the gentle rain,
A symbol of my silent pain.
It’s buried ‘neath the meadow fair,
Conjoined with all the sorrow there.
It’s lost among the stars this night,
Too far to ease my quiet fright.
No gentle winds, seek not my heart,
For simply … it has torn apart.
January 12, 2009 at 11:24 pm
quaid e azam was a democratic leader?