22 january 2017
Grief Unspoken
It was the interplay
between shadow and moon.
An encephalopathy
in ring of fire?
The blast was the tipping
point of your identity. Now
you don’t recognize yourself
amid the books.
Grieving can start now.
Tossed from temple roof
on to mound of ash, you
stand on your grave for final count.
Again your voice will drown
in a green pond. It was a
prelude to a voicelessness for
ever. Irretrievable was, a bird song.
11 august 2025
Jaga
11 august 2025
absynt
11 august 2025
absynt
11 august 2025
wiesiek
11 august 2025
jeśli tylko
10 august 2025
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9 august 2025
absynt
9 august 2025
absynt
9 august 2025
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8 august 2025
wiesiek