19 july 2014
THE END
Lines on forehead are deepening.
No signs of abatement
of fire in our bellies.
The hunger we inherited
is only comforting
the mouthless.
Broken laughs.
Strange bedfellows
chopping off the murals from the lips.
A body rots,
stinks.
Maggots fly.
Negotiations are still on.
Who will dissect the legend
to find the cause of death?
Like a clay model, a soldier breaks.
Satish Verma
19 march 2026
wiesiek
18 march 2026
wiesiek
17 march 2026
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16 march 2026
Jaga
16 march 2026
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16 march 2026
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15 march 2026
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15 march 2026
absynt
14 march 2026
wiesiek
14 march 2026
Jaga