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
20 marca 2026
sam53
19 marca 2026
sam53
19 marca 2026
wiesiek
18 marca 2026
wiesiek
18 marca 2026
violetta
17 marca 2026
wiesiek
17 marca 2026
sam53
16 marca 2026
Jaga
16 marca 2026
wiesiek
16 marca 2026
Jaga