Poets, poems, etc.
Chairs, tables in vain.
The smell, upcoming from metro.
Trees still begging for rain.
My beloved holy mind's
Coming as close as can.
In this night sacrifice I,
Asking this not to stay.
Under the wooden floor clapboards
We can hear lonely cry.
If you have lots of burdens,
Come to our hard times.
04/10/2024
Hard Times
© Copyright: Акеев Азамат, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124100404614
Свидетельство о публикации №124100404614
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