29 december 2022
Miracles Happen
No, I don't think,
when I write. My poem
finds its own words.
The thought
moves stealthily. You put
your hand on my hand.
Your eyes now
search the lost kingdom
of trembling nostalgia.
Will I remain
human? Living amidst
the burials? Do the dead
laugh?
Was there a casualty
at beach? You will not swim
nor drown, for becoming
a nightingale.
My eminent revere
was to live, waiting for
you!
20 april 2024
To Dying MuseSatish Verma
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1904wiesiek
19 april 2024
The VoyagerSatish Verma
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ItinerantSatish Verma
17 april 2024
Nim kur zapiejeJaga
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Between Done And UndoneSatish Verma
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Przed zmrokiemJaga
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1604wiesiek
15 april 2024
I RememberSatish Verma
14 april 2024
....wiesiek