15 november 2018
Not Holding
Not begging,
for a native dream;
hiding an ocean in the eyes.
The hills were trembling.
I am going to cross the river,
of flames.
I am sitting on the dirt floor,
counting the cowries.
This was my home,
that was my book.
Playing the game of death.
What had you written, O god
with your quivering hand.
I am still following a riderless horse.
Not the least. Any want...
Give back my blank page.
19 march 2024
The Pain Was Not YouSatish Verma
18 march 2024
1802wiesiek
18 march 2024
Ruda na platynowoabsynt
18 march 2024
Art In DyingSatish Verma
17 march 2024
W gotowościJaga
17 march 2024
takie tam ćwiczenieabsynt
17 march 2024
I Will SurviveSatish Verma
16 march 2024
1603wiesiek
16 march 2024
tu i teraz, zanurzając sięTomek i Agatka
16 march 2024
Drzewo recykling 2020Marianna Małgosia Bakanowicz