18 january 2018
Some Prelude
There were, peels
of ripples. Between.
The tangled arguments. Then you
start reading in the bumps;
a cold blooded murder.
Of poems? Serrated, when
I lifted them from your bloody hands.
No miracle. The animal
survives, without water, air.
You come down the ramp
without shoes to reclaim
the heritage.
And that means, there had been
an attempt, to commit suicide!
25 april 2024
2504wiesiek
25 april 2024
QuartzSatish Verma
24 april 2024
The End StartsSatish Verma
23 april 2024
Three poemsAdam Pietras (Barry Kant)
22 april 2024
Echoes TravelSatish Verma
21 april 2024
od wewnątrzsam53
21 april 2024
2104wiesiek
21 april 2024
Picking RelicsSatish Verma
20 april 2024
To Dying MuseSatish Verma
19 april 2024
The VoyagerSatish Verma