20 november 2012
ONLY METAPHORS
A hidden self portrait
in a tar pit
I do not want to explore further.
Wind was making a big sound
the tarp blowing off,
I stand naked under the scortching sun.
A classless pain rises fiercely
I am careless about my height
amdist tall peaks.
Hypodermic, my little dachshund
holds the time in small paws
and plays with my stasis.
I loose my taste of salt on lips
charting between the tears
of infant fears.
Satish Verma
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Jesienna sukienkaJaga
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Pierwszy przymrozekJaga
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HyperaesthesiaSatish Verma
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Skromny 2023.Eva T.
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Jesień/zima drzewa figowegoEva T.