The light is a hunter.
She is deceivingly attracted towards it,
As a few weeks living monotonous fly.
The sunrays,
Oh, the stunning lie, the warmth
They feed you with
While piercing your complexion.

The dark is a conqueror.
He is greedily engaged in howling
His violent and brave sentences at it.
The shadows,
Oh, the palpitating shiver, the lair
They provoke you with
While swallowing your sobs.

The day for mind, the night for body.
The thick wool made coat for you,
The silk pants for him.
Stir up the thrills of hope,
Break down the codes of formality.
Listen to his throb, to her nonsense,
Engulf their significant fables.

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