27 june 2018
Predation
There was no clear move.
Flamethrowers were on the way─
and I was looking,
backward.
A fragile truce with the
clouds. They had abandoned─
the sky and were wringing─
the neck of mountains.
Compromising with the painted lips
of winter, my secret was out.
I was shivering in the crowd
of moon-gazers.
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
18 april 2024
ItinerantSatish Verma