20 lutego 2014
THIS ODYSSEY
The wound peeks out
from the round eyes. No lashes,
brows. Singed face betrays the scars
of last century.
He was fighting with his fists only.
Iced lids throwing the flames;
god knows what was the pain of memories?
He did not reverse the wheels of woes;
did not bring back the stream
lost in the volcanic rocks.
Playing truant from black death
a frail hope kindles the small fish
to swim against the current,
ruts of repetitions and bores of endless
barrels shooting roadmaps.
Satish Verma
13 marca 2026
wiesiek
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