5 may 2013
NAIVE INNOCENCE
O pink horse, O timeless sun,
run on my body, run. Black magic
had pierced the needles into my heart.
Lying on nails to wrest a superearth
from amnesty, I start bandaging the bruised
ethos of my native conscience
on the spike of a violence, refusing
to give up my home to fire, tending
the voiceless flora of a virgin rock.
The questions stand up, against
the black walls of silence. The blue birds
are going to fly in white desert.
Satish Verma
10 august 2025
absynt
10 august 2025
absynt
10 august 2025
absynt
10 august 2025
absynt
10 august 2025
absynt
10 august 2025
wiesiek
10 august 2025
Jaga
9 august 2025
wiesiek
9 august 2025
absynt
9 august 2025
absynt