13 january 2017
Smiling Buddha
A rapt moon was listening
a tale of two murders.
Across the caste, fingernails
were digging in to give -
a putsch to darkness, unhappened
in vain.
A word tears into the untouched
pain and I bleed for the golden birds.
Can you transcend an apparition
alighting on impermanence?
Time was brewing
a revolution of untold jokes.
Death moves in a circle
to negotiate peace with unknown.
Skies were indifferent bidding
farewell to cracks of dawn.
11 august 2025
Jaga
11 august 2025
absynt
11 august 2025
absynt
11 august 2025
wiesiek
11 august 2025
jeśli tylko
10 august 2025
Jaga
9 august 2025
absynt
9 august 2025
absynt
9 august 2025
Jaga
8 august 2025
wiesiek