To the sounds of a pianoMy song froze,I wept over the verses with tears of my soul,I stopped the thorn-pierced dance,To quench the thirst of white dreams…Ancient wails killed my word,A black shirt covered my bodyA legacy of ‘so-called’ tradition...I comforted myself with the trembling of my heartAn alphabet that cannot be killedBy the bullet of time.
I want to speak, but they kill my words, And even if I wake like a sleepwalker, They accuse me. I dare not tell them a secret, They call me a liar... To hide it in the corners of...
A breeze blows, and shakes the leaf, / Rocks a wave across the sea.
If you did not know that He is watching you, If you were not certain of the breathing of the stars Behind the great clouds, If you did not hear His waiting smile Behind…
We use Google Analytics to understand how the magazine is read. Privacy policy
