11 october 2012
POSTSCRIPT
The space shrinks
when moon breaks the black night.
An aching flotilla does not
reach home. The wait ends
in your poems.
Clutching at floating truths
you help to save the words
of predicament. Ultimately
a temple walks free
without a god.
The whiteness of false teeth
has a regular visitor
of a bright smile.
But the tender eyes were telling
a different story.
Satish Verma
30 january 2025
Nawet w styczniu jest wiosnaJaga
30 january 2025
0039absynt
30 january 2025
Nadiaajw
29 january 2025
0038absynt
29 january 2025
2901wiesiek
29 january 2025
0037absynt
28 january 2025
2801wiesiek
27 january 2025
W styczniu i nie dziwi nicJaga
27 january 2025
0036absynt
27 january 2025
0035absynt