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
7 lipca 2025
wiesiek
6 lipca 2025
violetta
6 lipca 2025
wiesiek
6 lipca 2025
Yaro
5 lipca 2025
dobrosław77
5 lipca 2025
violetta
5 lipca 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
5 lipca 2025
Arsis
5 lipca 2025
jeśli tylko
5 lipca 2025
jeśli tylko