22 january 2018
Wandering Jew
Counting the digits,
of your hand, you forget,
how many fathers you have.
Was it not very odd that
truth exists in the crying eyes
of a child whose mother
had abruptly disappeared?
It always hurts, when
realization comes. A little
sprig of cowlick, reminds you of
timelessness. You can move-
in any direction. You want to
go. That will need a third eye.
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