4 july 2016
Lone Journey
Goats and camels
My caravan moves on sand dunes
to cross the desert of hunger and want.
Give a sharp prick
draw the pure blood
and don’t cry at the sight of violence
in the sky
I am not going to die.
It is galloping dark
there is absolute stillness in the air
and I have fallen in love
with the whistling breeze.
Somebody is pawing, clawing at my back
as if trying to maul
the back of a denuded totem.
Moon is watching helplessly.
An owl on a branch
looks straight, flaps
flies away.
Unpeeled clouds are now walking away.
Dew will settle
among the thirsty fields.
17 december 2025
wiesiek
16 december 2025
wiesiek
15 december 2025
wiesiek
15 december 2025
Jaga
14 december 2025
wiesiek
14 december 2025
jeśli tylko
13 december 2025
wiesiek
12 december 2025
wiesiek
12 december 2025
Eva T.
11 december 2025
wiesiek