9 august 2023
In My Small Fists
You seldom touch
the flames of eyes, when
I believed it was true.
Your hand burns.
Ceremonial. I
pluck the roses in
delirium. O pain-giver
there was beautiful blood.
Cloud, cloud tears
slip for thousand of years
to reach the dry lips of iris.
Why did I go blind?
After the snake bite
you turn blue, a goddess
of forgotten sins, I
will never blame you.
21 january 2026
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20 january 2026
Jaga
20 january 2026
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18 january 2026
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17 january 2026
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16 january 2026
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11 january 2026
Jaga
10 january 2026
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4 january 2026
Jaga