1 june 2013
FALLING BRICKS
From the blank book can I
lift some questions for the lofty hopes
when I lost myself near the home?
The fear was darting inside the white sores.
Keys were lost for the answers
and truth fell castrated.
The magic was fading from the cusps
of designs, unconceived thoughts were
seeking proportionate punishments.
Congeniality drifted from the
architect of hominid species. A nameless
storm plays havoc. Humble peaks bow
before the unmeasured meteors. You
can shut the orphanage now; no
bombs are bound for the wet crypts.
Satish Verma
17 february 2026
wiesiek
17 february 2026
jeśli tylko
16 february 2026
wiesiek
16 february 2026
Jaga
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wiesiek
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13 february 2026
wiesiek
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Jaga
11 february 2026
wiesiek
10 february 2026
Jaga