My Native Land



My Native Land

My Native Land

My Native Land

(Collected Poems)





Menonim Menonimus




Internet Edition


My Native Land (A Collection of English Poetry) by Menonim Menonimus, First Edition: 2019




All Rights Reserved


Price: ……………


D. T. P. By

Adid Shahriar, Barpeta.




My Native Land

Had I a Piece of Land

Had  You Known





My Death

Prayer to God for Patricia

Love Stanzas

None Sees None Knows

What is Love


Grandfather’s Report


To Spring

I’ll be Loving Thee

What is Life

The Poet

What will I Say

Yes, I Can




Resolution II

Parrot and Piegon

Wild Flowers Speak to me


The Patriot

That Night


My Cottage

If You Had Not Come

I Want A Poet


Sorrowful Night

Thy Love

A Love Poem

My House

The Forbidden Flower

So are the Poets

In the Horizon of Your Mind 








My Native Land


My native land is my universe in itself

Having the sun of its own

Having the vales and hills 

Rivers, lakes, seas and oceans of their own.

It is my land where there is an abundance of rain

And drought within.

It is my land where cat grows fat

The mice grow into a skeleton.

It is my land where roses are for the bees

And the thorns are for the pigs.

It is our land where tears are our wealth

Smile is our dream.

It is my land where featherless birds eat most

But the birds that fly most suffer the most.

It is my land- a land of Heaven and Hell in itself. 0 0 0

My Native Land 


Had I A Piece of Land


Had I a piece of land!

I would have planted all kinds of trees

I would have planted the shisu, the teak, the sonaru

And the plane trees for the birds to perch on them

For the strangers to take rest under

After their tiring long journey.

Had I a piece of land!

I would have planted all kinds of fruit trees

The jack tree, the beech tree, the mango tree,

The apple tree, the pear tree and the palm tree

To feed my native brothers in my own hand.

Had I a piece of land!

I would have planted all kinds of flower plants-

The rose, the jasmine, the masunda

And the sun-faced flowers

To disseminate their fragrance 

To the nook and corner of my native land.

Had I a piece of land!

I would have dug a lake 

And have nursed there all kind of fishes of my land

To feed my people feast with.

Had I a piece of land!

I would have built a hut 

With my own hand to live in peace.

Had I a piece of land!

I would have set up a society 

Free from caste and creed- 

Free from Hindu and Muslim, 

Free from Christians and Jains

There all be men 

Free from the narrow bondage of religion.

Where there will have neither high nor low

Neither the lords nor the slaves

All will be brothers and sisters

Where all will pray to only one God

Without mentioning the names of religions. 0 0 0

My Native Land 


Had You Known


Had you known-

For whom is my love!

Had you known-

For whom are my tears!

Had you known-

For whom is my verse!

Had you known 

For whom are my days!

For whom are my hours!

For whom are my minutes!

Had you known-

For whom is my sleepless pillow!

For whom is my starless sky!

For whom is my sunless day, moonless night!

Had you known-

For whom are my eyes, my ears! 

For whom is my heart, my soul!

Had you known-

For whom is my life!

For whom is my death!

Had you known-

I would have a mate or maid 

To share my everything! 0 0 0

My Native Land




We have only one House

Where we live, sleep, drink, weep, 

Cry, laugh, smile

Make quarrels 

And make compromises among ourselves

We inhale the air of both peace and enmity in the same house.

The house was built by our father

With all his fondlings 

With all his labour. 

It becomes old now.

It does not match the fashion.

It is not beautiful to look at.

We criticize it from all rounds

And often say:

It is so much hackneyed

Let us have a new one.

It is devoid of any furniture

Our father was  naive,

A poverty-stricken poor peasant

He did not know- what furniture means

Neither he knew- how to decorate a house

So the house is lack of beauty.

We are the production of modernity

We do not like the house and desire to get a new one.

Our minds have caught the sense of beauty

But we cannot come out of the trammels of poverty

We have inherited the same legacy 

As our father inherited it from our grandfather.

To suit our sense we have bought some furniture

In the old house. 

Now the beauty of the house has somewhat increased 

But the foundation of the house remains the same

It has been becoming weaker day by day 

But everybody of us ignores it.

Now, though late, we have realized-

Instead of decorating the house with paper-made flowers

And steel- made furniture

We should strengthen its foundation.

Like the house built by our father

The houses of us all have been going to be

Weaker and weaker day by day.

So, my brothers

Come out, let us strengthen our home

Before we decorate it. 0 0 0

My Native Land 




I’ve no pain of my own

I’m beautified by the pain of thine

As the Rainbow is coloured by the rays of the sun.

It is said there are twelve colours in a Rainbow

But we know not- where they begin and where they end.

If the sun is in the east 

The rainbow appears in the west

And if the  sun is in the west 

The rainbow appears in the east.

It is a rainbow looking at which

The children leap up with joy

The adults feel thrilled in their hearts

The old men thank God for His freak

And the poets think of the charm of their beloved.

But to the men of knowledge, it is the reflection of the sunbeam.

It was, to our forefathers, a road for the clouds

Or the bow of the Sky- god

Or the fate of the farmers.

But it is to me the spirit of life that makes me live. 0 0 0

My Native Land 




You have eyes to see

You have ears to hear

You have a nose to smell

You have skin to feel

You have the heart to resolve

You have head to judge

You have hands to put into action

Then why do you not hoist the flag of revolution-

Against the darkness

Against the bloodsuckers

Against them who eat the fruits 

But throw the peels to your face? 0 0 0

My Native Land 




My Love twinkles

Rounding the blue of the sky 

As a star.

It’s mild

When I’ve no desire 

As mild as the breeze.

It is severe when I’m angry

As severe as the mid-summer.

It is as lovely as a rose

When my beloved is at my door

With a face as smiling as the rainbow.

It is as kind as my mother

When I weep.

It is my maid 

When I’m alone on my lonely couch at night. 0 0 0

My Native Land


My Death


I know not- when I’ll meet my Death

I know not- where I’ll die

I know not- if I’ll be assassinated

I know not- who’ll be my assassinator

I know not who’ll be the patron of my assassinator.

I know not- if I’ll die by violence

I know not- if I’ll die of the disease

I know not- if I’ll die for some great cause

I know not- if I’ll die in an accident

I know nothing  about my Death

I know not- how it’ll come

But I know that Death must seize me forever

One day or other

Either sooner or later. 0 0 0

My Native Land


Prayer to God For Patricia


God, cast your gracious eyes on my dear sister

Let her heart be enlightened and let her bear,

A life full of joy, peace and perfect pleasure

To enjoy them, bestow upon her hundred years,

O God, be kind, look at my dear Patri sister.


Life is not life if it keeps away from marriage

O God, provide her with a groom in her thirty age,

A groom endowed with love, affection and beauty

Frank in dealings, free from being haughty,

Let his heart be so benign to be my Patri’s dearer.


God, respond erelong to my kind and humble prayer

Let her embrace the groom full of love, o God, hear

Let her soar up from joy to joy, from peace to peace

Celebrating her thirtieth birthday it is my prayer. 0 0 0

My Native Land


Love Stanzas


Love has its own season

As the night jasmine bloom in autumn

As autumn follows summer.

Again the jasmine does not drop down

Unless the dew falls upon.


Now still I’ve been burning like a candle

As much as I burn

I turn stiff as a piece of iron.

No heat of the fire can melt me.


The gone days are precious for me

I derive either peace and comfort

Either pain or agony from them

Hence every day 

I open up the page of my memorandum

It contains the fragrance of my long past. 0 0 0

My Native Land 


None Sees None Knows


I could not love who I had to love

Whom I had not to love

I’m imprisoned to him.

My heart fills up with emptiness

Though it is as vast as the sky.

Whom I wanted to have-

He is away from me.

Whom I wanted not to have 

He sticks to me.

My love is my easy tears.

Sometimes I see my lost memory in the dark night

And sometimes I lost my entity

In the midday light.

Now I’m away from me

And away is my dearest one

Yet I’m living, yet I’ll be living.

I’ll learn to smile embracing my sorrows

My tears drop down being smiles through my lips

But none sees none knows. 0 0 0

My Native Land 


What is Love 


Why do we talk of love?

It is a cup of wine

We drink and forget the world-

Its passion, its tears and joys.

It is a fountain pen that goes on scratching on paper

Consuming its ink.

It is a piece of black cloud

That flows down to the sea being rain

Then is seen no more.

It is the left-hand palm of one’s dearest one

On which one kisses and enjoys

Moments’ joy and then is forgotten.

It is an antique one-act play

In modern frame

When staged the audience seem

To dance and weep

And then is forgotten.

But for me, it is my eyes, my hand

It is my feet, my head and my skull.

It is a story told from an eccentric brain

That does not know what he tells. 0 0 0

My Native Land 




Last night 

I’ve dreamed of my father

He is dead

He has left us forever.

In my last night’s dream, he appeared before me

He turned neither fat nor thin

He seemed as he was. 

He told me something

But I’ve forgotten

If he wished he could say to me 

Everything whatever he wished to say

He could have said:

Let the world be shined by your light

But he said to me nothing

He only gestured

That may be interpreted as:

You would be the beacon 

A beacon to guide the dark cells of the human brain. 0 0 0

My Native Land


Grandfather’s Report


Have you ever heard of this green valley?

Once there was a forest-

Full of wild beasts: 

Lions, tigers, pigs, donkeys, deers, hares 

And so many animals.

Various species of trees, reeds and shrubs grew there

In its bush, the tigers growled and roared

Breaking the roof of the blue sky

The hares and deers ran, leapt and grazed there

A river flowed through the belly of the forest

In its own melodious way.

There was no man, no society,

No king, no slave, no politics

In such an antique time 

Our forefathers immigrated here from the west

They came, they saw, they embraced the valley as their own

And it became their native land forever

Peace and safety, brotherhood and unity, 

Joys and smiles were abundant in them.

They sang the song of green grass 

And ploughed this green valley

And lived as if it was their earth- heaven.

Days passed and once there raised a king

Then all the evergreen peace, joy, pious plough

And honest labour began to fade away one by one.

Now, there is still a king sitting on the throne

But all the glories of my forefathers have gone away.

Look at here and there.

Look at the east and west,

Look at the north and south

The green valley has turned into a desert. 0 0 0

My Native Land 




For many a day, I’ve not walked through the land

Where one is drowned in water

He needs not drink water.

So is my soul

It is itself a vaster epic

My every moment, every hour, every night, 

Every week is surrounded by living poems

As while walk I weep, I laugh while I should shriek

I sing while I should keep silence

While I’ve to see- I close up my eyes

While I breathe it becomes sighs

My life is itself living lines of a thousand living poetry. 0 0 0

My Native Land


To Spring


Spring, the bride of Nature

Thou being nursed by twelve sun

Have bloomed.

During these months

Thou have grown up to young

And has experienced the cool, the heat, the breeze,

The storm, the hail, the waves

And even smiling and weeping.

Now thou art matured

Thy organs have filled up with juice and honey

The west wind is blowing on thy hair

And thy hair is flying as cotton floats in the wind.

The transparent sky has become thy veil

The rose bloom for thy delight

The bare trees bear new leaves

To provide shade to the strangers

The butterfly dances upon the flowers

The cuckoos, the nightingales, sing for thy joy

The rivers glide down for thy music. 

Spring, may God bless thee

Be remain young forever

And let us live on thy lap.  0 0 0

My Native Land 


I’ll Be Loving Thee


O, my Love, I’ll be loving thee

Till there is the sky with endless blue

I’ll be loving thee as long as the sea bears salt and water

O my candid love, I’ll be loving thee

Though my days are engrossed by Death.

I’ll be loving thee as deeply as the moon does the earth

I’ll be loving thee more 

Than the flies love the bloomed flowers.

I’ll love thee more than the river loves the sea

I’ll love thee as long as there is the wind 

And the hills with ice

I’ll be loving thee though the entire world turns against me

O my love, I’ll love thee with all my might. 0 0 0

My Native Land 


What is Life


What is life?

Is it not a sea full of waves and water

That dance and strike on the strand?


Is it not a pair of eyes

Through which the lava of a burning volcano

Burst forth and coagulates to become granite?


Is it not the west wind

That blows over hills and vales

Shaking off the boughs and leaves of trees?


Is it not a rainbow?

That takes birth in the sky

Like a bow without an arrow

Always to the opposite of the sun?


Is it not a crystal

That looks fine

But if breaks 

It breaks into pieces forever? 0 0 0

My Native Land 


The Poet


Yes, I’ve realized today-

I’m a poet

As hunger is the ever mate of my belly

My bride starves by day and night.

I’ve to spend the hours in the dark

As I’ve no lantern to shine my hut

My brother walks on barefoot even in cool winter

My mother has to toil hard at seventy

My father had died waiting for a better day.

Am I not a poet?

My eyes burn at night finding no blank paper

To put my hot tears.

My days are spent after the endeavour of gathering fuel for the hungry belly

Am I not a poet?

The storms blow upon me-

Yet I’m compelled to say- I’m in safe.

Why am I not a poet?

If not why am I despised by all?

Even my mother condemns me to go to death

I am bleak like a dead hill.

I may not give birth to verses

Of higher acclaim.

My poems may not see light

Yet I’m a poet 

As I’ve no means of livelihood. 0 0 0

My Native Land


What Will I Say


What will I say of your beauty?

It is to say-

You are the twentieth-century edition of Helen

For whom thousand and one young princes 

Met their immature death, 

Thousand died of disappointment

Thousand forsook the throne

And took shelter in the wild woods

Where they meditated not on God

But on thy fair face

And thus died of hunger at last.

I fear thee, O, the new edition of Helen!

My eyes love thee,

My heart love thee

My senses love thee.

But in front of thy beauty 

I’m a piece of the dark pitch.

Thou art the full moon and I’m the dark cloud

Thou art the glittering gold

And I’m the rusty piece of iron.

Hence I keep far away from thee

Otherwise  rays of my dark shade 

May corrupt thy beauty. 0 0 0

My Native Land


Yes I Can


Yes, I also can raise my hands upward to the sky

I can sing the song of bolt and storm

And can set fire to water

I can run and run and cross the bar of Death.

Yes, I can fly with the birds

And can travel throughout the wild world.

Yes, I can get angry with all 

Whom I love or don’t love.

Yes, I can overcome all

Who are my antagonists?

And who are not my antagonists?

Yes, I can live and make others live

I can do what only a few can imagine.

Yes, I can make others weep and live with life

I can do what a few can do

But the time is yet to come

And yet I’ve to make my way 

Through the unknown ways. 0 0 0

My Native Land





Would you like to exchange your mirror

For my marble monument?

Or would you agree to exchange your chair 

For my bookshelves?


Would you like to exchange your fingerprint

For my palm?

Would you consent to exchange your pen 

For all my papers?

Friend, if you like –

Let me know erelong

I desire to be living for some more days. 0 0 0

My Native Land




Let one die and a hundred live

Let a hundred die and a thousand live

Let a thousand die and mankind live.

Be hopeful of an ordered newer life

Pick up your rights

Shake off the chain

If you are too weak

Begin to hate the chain of bondage-

It is the inauguration of victory over the forced darkness. 0 0 0

My Native Land 




I have a friend.

The hour of his departure arrives

But he has not prepared his dress to wear on 

He has means 

Yet willingly he is naked.

The hour of my departure has not arrived

Yet I’m in a hurry to get at my chariot.

But I can not 

Because I‘ve no means to walk ahead.

He is a man 

I am a man

He with means

I without means

He has not made up his dress 

Though he has means

I’ve no means yet I’m anxious to make it

But I don’t know-

Who is in the wrong?

Whether he or I. 0 0 0

My Native Land


Resolution – II


I go to the running river to take a rest

As a frustrated poet goes to the brothel

I may lose my brightness

But I can twinkle like a star 

In the night sky to guide the strangers.

I am a source of blood and light 

As a rainbow is a source of the song to a minstrel

I can speak, I can hear, I can meditate

I can introspect as a man does.

Then why o, my soul, why you are dead?

Wake up to life

Speak louder than ever before

Learn from your sin and become brighter

As a piece of burnt gold

Be like a rose

Let your fragrance come out. 0 0 0

My Native Land 


Parrot and Piegon


Only a parrot

And a flock of pigeons.

The parrot sweeps down the flock of pigeons

And at one bounce smites off the head of the pigeon

It tore the throat, belly and the head

And eats away the flesh with content. 

Everybody of us becomes the pigeon

Everybody of us nurses the parrot

We the poor grow fat only to feed the parrot. 0 0 0

My Native Land


Wild Flowers Speaks to Me


One winter evening I happened to pass 

Through a dense forest.

I was alone-

Neither a mate nor a maid was with me.

Depending upon my weary feet

I rushed onwards

The woods was deep and silent

The night was falling down with all its darkness

Around me, there were only dense shrubs and bushes

Besides my left and right there were

Wild yews and plain trees grow proudly and wildly.

In the bush, the wild beasts were growling,

Howling, yelling and roaring.

The more I went ahead the more deep silence attacked me.

All of a sudden a wild fragrance caught my senses.

I looked around and suddenly chanced to see a flowering plant

That was neither seen nor heard of before.

It was not a rose but was almost like a rose

I stared at it, gazed at it and I lost myself.

Thus many moments were spent

There was none whom I could ask about the flower

Then I asked the flower 

And it whispered to my ears:

I grow and bloom here after the will of my Lord. 0 0 0

My Native Land




I’ve got a mansion with many cells

When I took place in the willing womb

Of my mystic mother

I found all the cells of my mansion open

The light could go in and out easily

All the windows were active 

The sunlight could peep through.

But while my age became one month

One of my cells closed up

When I became three months old

Three doors of my cells got closed up

When I became six months old

Half of all the doors were closed up

While I took birth through the painting path

Of my mystic mother 

All the doors along with all the windows

Got closed forever.

I became suffocated and could hardly breathe

Since my birth, I’ve been struggling

To open the doors and windows of my mansion

But as much as I struggle so much the doors got tightened.

Now many a spring with many ups and downs has passed.

Much of my spirit and strength have exhausted

And just now I’ve got only one of the doors opened.

In doing so half of my life has passed

Now I’ve become worn out by age.

If I could open more of a door

I would have been able to unlock all the paths of mystery

That the men of science and philosophy 

Have been struggling to catch the rays 

Throughout the ages. 0 0 0

My Native Land 


The Patriot


He has been sent to death

Because he was an exception.

His acts and deeds, his voice and speech,

His eyes and looks, his heart and shirt

We’re not like that of others.

He had an arduous sense of amour for his land

For his people.

He uttered to his utmost voice for the liberation

Of the oxen from the yoke of bondage

He sang the song of light and of free oxygen

With a voice more inflammable than the flame of fire.

Wherever he went the sun rose

Wherever he walked through 

He swept away all the mud and dirt

He became the voice of people

And that is why he was carried off to the unknown jungle

Both his hands were shackled tight behind

His eyes were turned off

He was whipped till he lost his sense

His breast was torn with gun and bullets

And thus he was rewarded and was sent to death. 0 0 0

My Native Land 


That Night


That night we were in the same city

The night was burning with red flames of fire

The uproar and tumult of the night were burnt to ashes

And the city became nude 

Like a leafless tree in winter.

I fell into trance where I was

You turned to death where you were.

That night is known to us all

Yet we are reticent. 0 0 0

My Native Land 




I’ve forgotten to tell you 

The dream dreamed yester-night.

What the dream was!

Oh! It’s come to my mind

The image of thine 

Holding thy hand upward

You were soaring up to the sky

Hoping to catch up the stars

But as higher you soared

So higher the stars rose. 0 0 0

My Native Land 


My Cottage


It is my cottage

I myself have built it

With reeds and wood, barks and bamboos

I built it after the will of my wills

I made the doors, I made the windows

I made all its belongings myself

I got its walls painted with my red blood

I made the selves and plates

Tubs and tables and arrayed them after my freedom.

I built its ventilation to let the air

Come in and go out easily

I’m the owner of it

And mine is the cottage

Yet over the years, I’ve had no right to it

Yet still today, I’m a homeless vagabond

That is my cottage without life. 0 0 0

My Native Land 


If You Had Not Come


It would have been better

If you had not come to my life

Though joys and happiness were alien to me

I had a green garden of peace

With whom I played and danced

Laughed and quarreled, quarreled and laughed.

I had nights and days with stars

I had rose- white and red so dear.

I had no past but present and future.


When you had come 

I begin to lose my eyes

And grew blind

My green garden grew pale

My peace jumped out of my wooden window

Breaking my all-

My garden, my eyes, my tables, 

My peace and my present and future.


Now you have gone far away from me.

And with your departure my days begin to run back

The present turns into past

Now I have no days, no nights

I’m in the twilight groping after the shade of my past.

Had you not come it would have been better

I would have been not dead! 0 0 0

My Native Land

I Want A Poet


I want a poet 

Who before scratching his lines

Will soak his quill into the boiling blood 

Of the down-trodden and of the exploited peasants.

I want a poet

Who sees with the eyes of his heart 

And feels with his entity

And who has had a pilgrimage to the heart of the earth?

I want a poet 

Who would utter the suffocated voices 

Of our people’s throat

And whose blood has already been exchanged

with that of ours.

I want a poet

Who has got his arms thrown down to the hills

Yet can fly against them who make us kneel to their feet.

I want a poet who can blaze fire in the water

And can burn up all the dirt on our path.

I want a pet 

That can drive away the scratches of elegy from our face.

I want a poet 

Who can face death to gift us life? 0 0 0

My Native Land 




To make meat of my flesh

He spread up the iron net in my path

I, often become his victim

But my heart is so hard and still 

That he can hardly catch me off.

He chews and bites and again chews and bites

And finding my heart hard to crack

He lets me out causing me a great wound,

And thus every time I happen to become his victim

And thus every once I’m sent out

Every time he bruises me

But every time I’ve been becoming more immortal. 0 0 0

My Native Land 

Sorrowful Night

You will learn one day-

What is a day, what is night?

I have got the image of a sun 

That will make an end to the nights

But woe is that the sun seems to rise 

After the gun-shooting! 0 0 0

My Native Land 


Thy Love


Your love has made my heart so spacious as the sky is

Now in my heart 

All the seas with all the drops of water can take shelter easily.

Your love has made me as soft as cotton 

And as tight as hard stone

Now I have got the strength to climb up to Everest

And break the hardest hills into pieces

But sorrow is that I’ve lost my heart forever. 0 0 0

My Native Land


A Love Poem


Your beauty is fleshier than your amour

Your hip is more brittle than your desire

The yellowish waves of your naked dress is more costly

Woods grow in you where the darkness hides.

Beauty flows from there

As the brook flows down with a rippling sound from the hills.

A crocodile swims in the sea

It keeps living with the warmth of your sighs

Shedding the tears of love. 0 0 0

My Native Land 


My House


Last night Lusi came alone to meet me

He came when all the bulbs of light in my house were off

Only the window was open.

I knew she would come.

She came and knocked at my heart

I woke up

But it was too late

Now she is dead. 0 0 0

My Native Land 


The Forbidden Flower


For the honey of the forbidden flower

Wakes up my hunger

I’ve taken a bath in the river

And felt a sharp current in my veins

Now I am swimming and drowning in the whirlpool

As much deep as I’m drowning so much my thirst is increasing. 0 0 0

My Native Land 


So Are the Poets


Truly so are the poets

They shoot their guns to the sky 

And die within

Their silent voices wonder about the universe 

Being the rays of light.

And make resonance in the heart of Africa

Or tillage the revolutionary arms of Vietnam

Or they fertilize the brain of the proletariats in Yugoslavia. 

They are ceaseless artists

They make an order to the disordered words

And make edifices with them

On the craggy hills.


They grab up the wounds of the people, knit the robe of brotherhood, 

Give life to the flow of the river

And inundate the bellies of Brahmaputra, Amazon or Mississippi.


They wearing a shabby dress

Practise the art of beauty

Kiss flowers to be bloomed, and sow the seeds of equality

Some flying kites sweep away their hard-earned crops.

Truly so are the poets

They get forlorn 

Being burnt like a candle. 0 0 0

My Native Land 


In the Horizon of Your Mind


On the horizon of your mind

Washed off by the great flood

There is the shriek of thousand birds.

The sky breaks down in the resonance

And break down the rivers and stars.

In your lost childhood 

The dove coos.

In the forest of peace

There is no fear of the roaring of tigers

Because the Mahatmaji is dead! 0 0 0

My Native Land

The End


Books of Composition by M. Menonimus:

  1. Advertisement Writing
  2. Amplification Writing
  3. Note Making
  4. Paragraph Writing
  5. Notice Writing
  6. Passage Comprehension
  7. The Art of Poster Writing
  8. The Art of Letter Writing
  9. Report Writing
  10. Story Writing
  11. Substance Writing
  12. School Essays Part-I
  13. School Essays Part-II
  14. School English Grammar Part-I
  15. School English Grammar Part-II..

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I am Menonim Menonimus, a Philosopher & Writer.


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