27 december 2019
A Spirited Dust
Was it a calculated
risk, when it was poetry,
falling like rains
on the parched lips
of yellowing pages.
Like the stones of a
grey mountain,
singing a hymn to blasts,
pick pocketing the sun?
I start reading the anatomy
of violence, ever, never
easy to understand.
Lots of red blotches
were spread on the tiny figures.
28 march 2024
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It Is Getting DarkSatish Verma
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NarcyzJaga
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To były piękne dniabsynt
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Drobiazgi.Eva T.
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Wearing The Crown Of ThornsSatish Verma
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Margo5absynt
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2603wiesiek
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Good ByeSatish Verma