Tag Archives: Poetry

in the wind

it rains the grass bends helping tears flow the earth moist fragrance flutters like a feather in the wind   Advertisements

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End

It is still despite the storm quiet amidst the noise alone in a throng the warmth hides a sharp chill Dismantled dreams lie softly in the light of day perhaps waiting for darkness to arrive Invisible cloaked by the apparent … Continue reading

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Different only in degrees

The city, everywhere, is essentially the same. Different only in degrees A song too. The tear that slowly creeps out of the corner and a smile that slips off the edge Different only in degrees The questions that burn and … Continue reading

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Usurper

I am a usurper Nothing you see Ever belonged to me My bike My laptop Why, even the clothes I wear Are not mine. I am a usurper Nothing is my own My thoughts My feelings Why, even the women … Continue reading

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The art beats…

One writes out of one thing only — one’s own experience. Everything depends on how relentlessly one forces from his experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give. This is the only real concern of the artist, … Continue reading

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