1 lipca 2014
CONTRAST
Afraid of each other
we are hiding from farewell.
At stake was our nest,
you did not want to leave.
I think of kissing the dead eyes
of a phoenix,
I am a flame and I am ash.
The clouds will come as a curse.
Scissors: your lips had tormented me.
Why are we separating the grains?
transparent hurts?
Something we did not want to say?
A parting gift of silence
will haunt the blind memories.
I am walking on the rough terrain.
You are sailing in the sky.
Satish Verma
24 grudnia 2025
wiesiek
24 grudnia 2025
sam53
24 grudnia 2025
ais
23 grudnia 2025
wiesiek
23 grudnia 2025
jeśli tylko
22 grudnia 2025
Eva T.
22 grudnia 2025
Marek Jastrząb
22 grudnia 2025
Yaro