9 august 2012
REVVED UP
It was getting dark.
The insane curve of greed was rising.
I would not draw the boundaries
between the words.
The finch was immersed
in soliloquies and light was waiting
inside the seeds.
I open my eyes
and yell at the clouds in hyperboles
becoming stranger to myself.
Who belongs here
in slit eyes? Each flower was leaving
a blemish, for the winter.
Tell me,
who you are in the twist of reality.
A proverb is going to be taken away.
Satish Verma
19 december 2025
Jaga
19 december 2025
steve
19 december 2025
steve
18 december 2025
wiesiek
15 december 2025
Jaga
14 december 2025
wiesiek
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jeśli tylko
12 december 2025
wiesiek
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Eva T.
10 december 2025
Anthony DiMichele