27 november 2012
BEAUTY
In the dust storm
a discarded moon
sat in my lap.
Then internal rhythm
crashed.
Amorphic I would not find the music
of words translated into a kiss.
Gold started weeping
in my hands.
The clouds will rest
after committing a sin,
of letting out the sun.
Satish Verma
18 december 2025
wiesiek
15 december 2025
Jaga
14 december 2025
wiesiek
14 december 2025
jeśli tylko
12 december 2025
wiesiek
12 december 2025
Eva T.
10 december 2025
Anthony DiMichele
10 december 2025
Anthony DiMichele
10 december 2025
Anthony DiMichele
10 december 2025
Anthony DiMichele