26 june 2022
Missing The Bus
For the memory of palms,
the pretence lives on―
the blade of a saber.
You run on the sands
barefoot― to catch the waves
returning back to sea.
You had stopped
talking to me― wearing the
mystery― I loved.
On skin you print the
anthem. Somebody kills the lamb.
The pathos went quiet.
Becoming cold turkey,
absolutely white. The pilgrimage
over, you break the coconut.
25 november 2024
AfrykankaTeresa Tomys
25 november 2024
2511wiesiek
25 november 2024
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25 november 2024
Pod skrzydłamiJaga
24 november 2024
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24 november 2024
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24 november 2024
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24 november 2024
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24 november 2024
2411wiesiek
23 november 2024
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