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Many cursed nights passed
Winter feels the defeat of the month
Every year I pass,
With a life of monotony without variety.
No answer to our question
No one ever pays
We are in a group of unwanted people
We do not get the kindness of others.
People are infallible or selfish
Holi of this blood in the intoxication of what
One day everything will be mixed in the soil,
Only red ink stains on the ledger.