28 listopada 2013
DYING SCREAMS
Shall we go like innocents with heavy
breathing in the pool of blood to find
the innerconnectivity of a boldly beautiful
death? In the open pit of an ancient gold mine?
There was a loss of hidden dance, in the
cancer striken human chain, chiseled on the
grey walls of history. The artifacts stolen, even
the ankle-bells of a toddler had gone up for a sale.
A visual oval gives a liable comment. A
flame nauseates a baby doll. The yellow hornbill
puts up a fight for the sake of memories.
There is a huge silence of the rocks, moaning inwardly
None of me was a god. A simple slum’s promised
dream.Hungry roads will lead to a ruined temple.
Satish Verma
13 marca 2026
sam53
12 marca 2026
wiesiek
12 marca 2026
Weronika
12 marca 2026
sam53
11 marca 2026
Jaga
11 marca 2026
Jaga
11 marca 2026
wiesiek
11 marca 2026
Atanazy Pernat
11 marca 2026
Atanazy Pernat
11 marca 2026
ais