11 september 2012
WAITING
Under the gaze of bald beliefs
a warped dialect
becomes a squeezer.
Helplessly I watch
the slashing of my wrists.
Darkness burns, without light
only intense heat.
The expected miracle digs in
around, in trenches of my knees.
I become a walking ghost.
An immaculate landscape
with not a single blade of grass.
Only a blazing sun, threatening
to make you thingless and godless,
a proximity to aloneness.
Satish Verma
9 march 2025
absynt
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wiesiek
8 march 2025
Jaga
8 march 2025
Eva T.
8 march 2025
ajw
7 march 2025
Anthony DiMichele
7 march 2025
Anthony DiMichele
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wiesiek
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Eva T.
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Jaga