6 october 2019
Concealed Fever
It is raining.
The water colors.
I miss the ache.
When, to wear a crimson
dot on forehead, the sky
had become a bride.
Destiny fractured.
Why did't I tell the lies
to achieve the greatness?
Not my effects. I stare
blankly at your portrait.
Blaming the conceptual
crisis, you cannot speak the truth.
Weaving a web of unseen
threads, you hold a poem
ready to take a flight.
19 march 2025
Eva T.
19 march 2025
ajw
18 march 2025
wiesiek
18 march 2025
Eva T.
18 march 2025
jeśli tylko
18 march 2025
ajw
17 march 2025
Eva T.
17 march 2025
wiesiek
17 march 2025
absynt
17 march 2025
absynt