14 czerwca 2014
NO-MAN’S-LAND
Sadness was invading my wounds. Again
I will dip my fingers in bleeding heart
to write a new poem.
A scythe cuts a cloud
that it was not. I reel under
the unexpected rain of wards.
You go up on top ladder
to jump in the hot cauldron,
no pain to drown in bones.
What was the meaning of living
with death daily and still smiling?
A candle makes a hole in your palm!
The brain has an infidel tumor;
if fails to grow and erase you.
You are absent to your being.
Satish Verma
11 listopada 2025
normalny1989
11 listopada 2025
sam53
11 listopada 2025
wiesiek
11 listopada 2025
Weronika
11 listopada 2025
AS
10 listopada 2025
sam53
10 listopada 2025
wiesiek
10 listopada 2025
Toya
10 listopada 2025
ajw
10 listopada 2025
sam53