24 october 2014
THE LOST ONES
On your dark face
smile does not spread like a butterfly.
Most reticent I had been,
It was very difficult to give,
and very painful to take.
You wanted to be noticed,
and I had a tryst with uncharted path.
It was coming.
The separation!
Like an anal pain of cancer.
The essence was, usurped by a deathly kiss of cobra.
Your thoughts, body language were wrapped
in a tarnished blanket.
Let us start a parallel monologue
on different selves.
Do not count the wounds.
An anthropologist has become a messenger.
The history, the fossils, the caves are shouting,
we were cannibals.
No sound will trudge now,
on our empty streets.
No knocks will come on our doors.
Satish Verma
26 august 2025
wiesiek
25 august 2025
wiesiek
24 august 2025
wiesiek
24 august 2025
absynt
24 august 2025
absynt
23 august 2025
wiesiek
18 august 2025
Jaga
16 august 2025
wiesiek
14 august 2025
wiesiek
14 august 2025
absynt