In olden times, devout men worship their idols from morning until midnight, singing, reaching for their silken hems to feel how salvation runs smoothly in their fingers. And then at their faces they spit, cold and biting, searing the skin of the believers. This must be the reason why some are black, drifting into many shores like vessels of the night. They are burned at the stakes.
2 comments:
hang lalim, pwede ba math na lang? hahaha..just passing by ;-)
If you can produce a math poem, fine. It would be interesting to read one, ala Lewis Carroll. (He's really good at those literary calisthenics).
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