"embryonic" poems
Gendering Woman *******
Beautiful, anatomical part // Ugly, anatomical part
Natural, pleasurable // Burdensome, loathsome
Female Symbolic // Femme Symbolic
MALIGNANT HEALTHY
fearful, tearful, wretched // joyful, hopeful, euphoric,
bereft, wept, grieving // embryonic, rapt, relieving
leaving, loss // believing, gain
m a y b e - d e a t h r e - b i r t h
BI-LATERAL
MASTECTOMIES
Operating Theatre
SURGEON ANAESTHETIST
cleaning/ cutting/ knife/ scalpel // doping/ unconscious/ airway
blood / tissue // hypotension
loss/ damage // shock
drains // sinus rhythm
stitches // pain deadening
tight binding // reversal drugs
POST-OPERATIVE
a l i v e a w a k e
draining, bound & stitched draining, bound & stitched
DRAINED
~ UNBOUND
-- UNSTITCHED –
Empty chest Flat Chest
FREEDOM from Disease FREEDOM from Dis-ease
© M.L.Emmett
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
the tectonic plates
in me
are shifting
as our continents
approach collide
my ocean is
getting closer
to the mountains
on your landscape
tallest grasses blowing
in wild demon dance,
shaking their
heads as heated
storm approaches
oven-baked air crackling
with its own
electric currents
Nothing can stop it
it's a magnetic force
one to be
reckoned with
surrendered to
as dust foams
like ocean froth
around our heads
clinging to us in tiny
starlit fragments
and soon will come
the slick dive into
wordless waters,
just skin on skin
slippery mouth muscles
like entwined snakes
flick-flicking, shiny
in eye-lit cherry moons
Take my hand.
Just pull me in.
Enfold me,
without talking
watch as my aura
rushes into you,
first a delicate whisk
of cool light
to slake the thirst
of coal-licked caverns
then sparks
and bubbling oxidation
turning into liquid brushfire
Hold your palm
to my chest,
as if to keep
my heart steady,
my glowing flare of halo
pressed into your
clavicle, taking in
the embryonic beats
soothing my torrid ache,
infusing minerals
in vitamin-laced libation
It is time to simply bask
in the new
crispness of radical
shake off
the silt and salt
and rise up
into the spheres
of memory
of soulspeak
of collapsed time zones
budded breath
spiraling up
in curls,
diaphanous
dark mist
ascending
into
light
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC
So many colorful shards,
so many scattered books,
my Father left behind.
He connected the dots
with me, in space and time,
listening to the wind
when it was raining.
Absent and so close,
he used to say:
“Listen to what’s on the ground.
See what lifts us at night
when the birds go silent.”
He gave me more unrest,
he was the left hand
forced to write
with the right.
He believed in me
when the system
sent me away,
dismissed me.
He had hope
without medals,
standing steadfast
in the last row.
Now the body crumbles.
There is a memory
full of holes.
A counting echo—
he remembers,
he doesn’t,
it’s fine,
still hard
but his voice lives…
Time is blending
into a rusted chain
of events.
Tenderness,
resistance
to the falling apart
of departure.
He won’t come back.
He won’t recover.
The body is warm,
life doesn’t want to escape
the shrinking shell.
Sharp words cut helplessness.
Many nights still come
until the final return
to the embryonic state,
to point zero.
I am here,
into this deep night
being the witness to breath,
awake in the dark gentleness.
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 8:05 PM UTC
*plant a seed
embryonic beauty
a seed with heart
sown with compassion
a seed with promise
born on winds of change
a seed with substance
rooted in the soil of foundation
a seed with the flow of life
thirsty for the waters of acceptance
a seed with boundless vision
reaching for synthesizing illumination
allow the energy of expansion and transformation
allow that seed to germinate and pollinate the garden of existence*
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
I was on the way to find out my destination,
It was a rugged terrain without shed of trees on the road side,
Burning Sun shine on the top of my head and
Stony patches below my foot,
On a junction of the two roads,
You came out!
With …..
“Generous green of forest in our face,
Deepest blue of ocean in your eyes,
Melodious wind of mountain valley on your hair and
Splendid light of the don on your smile”,
As if this new path after this junction
going to lead me to the nature’s own womb.
Conversely, when we face each other you asked
‘Who I am?’ and ‘where I am going to?’
I was surprised; no one poses such questions to me on this long walk,
But I have already comes a crossed the Security man with gun in their hand,
The Beggar with stony beggaring plate in their hand,
The Food vendors with hot food in their basket,
The Knowledge tycoon with bag of books on their shoulder,
The Political guardian with embryonic power in their muscle,
No one asked any thing!
Not even look at me!
Probably for them either ‘I was insignificant or invisible!’
But your questions,
Compel me to think about my identity,
I don’t have a search engine,
to take help from the world wide web of identity,
So, when observing you with sensors of Imagination, Emotion and Cognition,
I found my lost identity in you,
As your child everything rooted in you,
Than I started to walk with you
Just to get the aspiration of living planet and
To protect you from the spite of ownerships, rationality, consumerism,
and demonstrationist humanity.
But after a while,
Every one started to pose question,
“Who I am?”
“Why I am walking with you?”
“How I get the right to do so?”
Than I replied my scruples enlighten me to do so!
No one understands ‘what I replied?’
Now the Political guardian of the society starts a campaign,
The knowledge baron prepared software for this operation,
The beggar and food vendor distributing the literature with illustrative interpretation,
That…..
“People like me are threat to the society”!
“This is an evil force of our society”!
Tomorrow…..
The security man going to declare a ‘decree’ on
Emotion, Conscience, Humanity and Love. □□
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
In his glass world
he seems to float
embryonic smooth and white,
not pure white but rather yellowish
watched by thousands of eyes
far from his ilk,
alligators in green, out there,
innocent, harmless
it seems as if they, in the evening
after the last visitors have left,
pull the valve out of his back
and let the air and life leave him
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
(and I cannot live
from with-out)
<>
a poem in appreciation to Rossella Di Paolo
<>
I, too:
- am an embryonic work in progress,
well into my seventh decade, with no ending in sight
I too,
live in the house of poetry, the address likely differs,
but suspect the innards of the houses differs little,
the decor, quite similar
- my house shrewdly requests a rethinking,
noting, it lives my artifice,
with in & with out
Then, we are a We:
- my cavities house her, She, Poetry is of Ruth (1) born,
- Poetry, She, reminds me, ”whither thou goest, I will go”
This duality:
- where the haunting of words providential,
emanate, both inhabiting & inhibits my breathing
She, a fearsome creature, a fearful-something,
for it tears me and shreds tears its demands be wrung
from with in to with out
She, Poetry:
- leaves me gaping, hollow, fills me with
depressurizing boreholes exposed to the elements of
externalities of an admixed atmospheres, that nature demands be refilled, fresh in, stale out,
for which the artifice trick is knowing which is which
when Poetry’s birthing:
- chest pounds, heart-rate beats heavy metal,
abdomen contracts, there then, no languid in my language,
no help untangling the alpha-bet jumbling,
product of the screams of pushing,
squeezing it forth*
*you’re hoping to quick-catch newly formed combinations,
for if you fail, a poem
noisily crashes to and through the floorboard cracks,
where poetry’s chaotic glinting etes
maliciously glimmer~winks at me
with a sarcastic thank you*
*“ah, too bad, another creation stillborn,
gone to rest, biting the nether dust,
without hope of resuscitation…”*
just another unfinished work in progress
periodically
a survivor clean caught, transcribed, edited to be finished,
amniotic fluids cleared,
poem resurrected
blessed with eternal life,
readied to be shared and delivered,
affirmed
and you say to no one and to everyone:
this poem will be our poem,
wither it goes, ascending, descending,
all live in the house of poets,
one house,
many apartments,
each poem a god,
and
my God will be our God,
your God, my God,
in the House of Poetry
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 5:55 PM UTC
Bougainvillea flowers flutter
In the faint echos of the past.
For,
the artist's palette
fails to hold
the clandestine shades of the night sky
or
the embryonic legends earth camouflages...
Silent stars
still fall
where remaining fantasies
crumble.
An ancient verdict lasts,
cobwebbed and leather bound,
left in time's fraternity.
His verdict hazed, but bright:
It shall rain when April comes
and you will cast your mind upon
the flowers left in the dust.
Open your chest,
and I will greet your eyes
once again.
It's been long...
It's been long since you saw more
than a Bougainvillea flower's flutter.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 8:55 PM UTC
You! Do you wonder how you changed the Course,
the "Flow of the Weave,"
Across your own Microcosm?
You should know of the Khyber Pass,
and the armies that crossed there over centuries,
Families crushed, ***** forced to change.
And yet, across this violent Cacophony,
Life,
Embryonic,
always endures.
So what to fallen Gods, worshipped by dying generations?
By Assimilation's weak dead grasp,
A page is turned,
A thread is woven,
and a generation,
to pass.
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 1:46 AM UTC
The unseen is so intangible to humanity that it screams Hersey in defense of limited carnal senses. Even if the womb could inhabit scientists in pre-birth form they could merely predict that the umbilical cord was the result of the big bang which was brought on by flatulence before the great earthquake of indigestion. The true miracle of birth is the unseen…how in the darkness of gestation a blind love is reflected through a heartbeat that is perceived only physiologically. They could never fathom the deeper water of love that a man has with a women! Conversely we are not immune to this fallibility within the new embryonic process called mother earth and its new limited senses that perceive love as tangible. Love is not a feeling like an umbilical cord or is it a marriage that brings beauty and personal happiness on earth. Love is bigger than the thick and thin of this imperfect dieing world! Marriage is the umbilical cord to a true love that is again unseen and reflected in the heartbeat of the Cross which eclipses all Physiological and cognitive impulses. Love never fades………………….
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
There is an entire universe
of embryonic possibilities
flowing and skating together
as ideas clash
and thoughts soak
in chalaza
With a crack
it all gargles out
a scrambled mess
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
Somehow, I managed to get to my thirties
without eating a cherry --- a fresh one, anyway,
raw, untamed, unshelved, and forgodssake,
unmarischinoed.
I had them in pies, gooey, sickening, too much
syrup, and in sundaes --- again, not real, a turn-off,
saw people tie the stems in knots,
I had the impression, I think, that if people
had to do all the things they do with cherries
to make them flavorful, they must be really
**** straight out of the bag.
I made my mind up that they were unpleasant
and I would have nothing to do with them.
Even, or especially, in chocolate-covered cherries,
which my mother loved, so I wanted to love,
I could at best eat the chocolate around that
thick viscous sugary embryonic fluid
wherein lay the embittered, unborn and unloved cherry
and not the coveted prize.
So imagine that day when, careless at a cocktail
party, or at someone's house, hungry, I nibbled
at a fresh one, deep red and whole, gingerly working
my way around the stem and coming awake
to ohmygod what have I been missing all these years?
They still seem brand new now, every time, a delicacy,
something wealthy people indulge in and so not really
belonging to my world. They beg for the company
of wine and the most delicate cheeses, they ask to be shared
and doted on. The keep revealing themselves,
on the plate, unadorned, and they keep reminding me
to try something else that I have never tasted,
like complete and utter honesty, or looking at myself
naked, without judgment, even at the innermost
feminine parts, upside down with a mirror until I see why
they say making love for the first time is giving away
your cherry.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
My heart
has cracked open
like the most
fragile of
elusive
eggs
viscous fluid
drips d
own
upon the plate
filled with
fissures,
spidercracks that
threat to
quake into
seismic
measures
and eventually
piece off into
oblivion
and only when
I can finally
unfold myself
from these
underwater
embryonic bends
fetal stretches
and folds
that never end
only then my arms
reach out
into the night
searching
and,
in tiniest of beams,
in one fell stroke
of midnight kismet
I find you
around me
in colored chromium
wrapping me up
headstrong,
filling my
wounded sutures
with
liquid
gold
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 6:11 PM UTC
Rebirth!
Have to clean my house today.
Forlorn for near eternity.
Bathroom once depressed in dank dampness.
Embryonic before new birth.
Now reborn.
Put on dress of new.
Fixtures and fittings sparkling renewed.
Safely delivered took a week.
So glad it was not a labour of mine.
Walls painted as light corn-flower.
Forgotten archaic tragedy as shades of change.
They have evolved!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 7:35 AM UTC
The foretold episode is ripe
And the childless dawn is now flowering,
The awesome parrots of Africa
Have began swimming in the heavens
And singing the verses of the paraded bees,
For the warrior of South Africa
Has ultimately impregnated the Godsbaa
Without violating her divine virginity,
The black star arouse from Ghana,
Journeyed gorgeously through Zimbabwe
And has decisively descended on South Africa,
Bu this is just the divine seed
Yet to grow into a full black African moon,
For the black star of the black man
Is the religious light yet to radiate on
The colourless naivete of mankind,
Ah, the premise behind this
Exhibition makes a perfect sense,
We did begin it all,
Pilgrimage through it all
And shall end it all,
For the wreckage of
Humanity flies with time
And the megapower status
Of the African is a fact of life,
Today, a new voice has been
Added to the joy of the black women,
Causing the dry bamboo flutes to buzz
With the pantaloons of the ancestors,
Adorn our emerald embryonic pride with
The ambrosial smiles charms of the sunrise,
For he pelts of the peerless mid-night
Has been remodeled with our dark gore.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
The trapeze artist without
trapeze,
encased within a paper weight,
reading through eye
glasses crafted for readers
astigmatic use.
This is the mind set...... this is the end truth.......
Being is embryonic,
to become, to the pupal larva,
a new becoming, Life.
II
Quantum leaps often end in tragedy
when the time traveler ceases to travel
The sudden stop!
Rapid communication......synaptic calibration......recall all yesterdays.
blind intellect one tenth of one second 15 seconds
The dimensions split and the bicameral mind appears two lobes
right and left, inverted vision adjusted for
mythic fusion,
creating abstracted convolutions
answering to them self. A planet in a galaxy of confusion.
III
Imagination finding place in the new electronic
institution, man made synaptical illustrations
from pixilated madness.
We take from this..............an
illogical extension of our existence that makes some sense.
We make it such
that it becomes
the most told lie
we believe without questioning.
Till death we do part.
IV
As I inhale looking at my past...my last past, well
in any case the past is where I just wrote past the last time
like now PAST.
Rationalization is overrated, intellectual ************
is for the cools, and catatonic haze is a new wave drug.
It is early in a new society's evolution.....
It is late in the face of time......
ergo quantum quandary quid pro quo
Ajerry / copyright
2013
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
piercing my right eye from within
daggers, sharpened with blame
fly true
through the blue
into faces of lying dry-cleaned faces
puffed and crimson
spittle gathering
hate speech teachings
reaching beaches far from informed shores –
new ***** blesses the young
shoveling modified nutrients
smiles beam
glistening sweat runs
internal furnace matching
warm glow of planned dumbing-down
vaccination zombie
mercury poisoned baby rocks silently –
embryonic images
in laboratory dishes
sample size offering a slight variance
right-wing politicians eagerly await
the first course
stem-cell soufflé
desperation sets in as reality takes hold
the shift already happened –
glancing at a dime-store wristwatch
plotting an afternoon of debauchery
slowing pulling off the square
admiring the show -
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
At night, against the pulsing embryonic black which could
Squeeze any number of untold horrors from it’s voided heft,
There sits a door; bright searchlights unmoving, having forever
Ago found and revealed the menacing target of their feverish hunt.
The lights, beacons of vision and revelation stay still,
Afraid to ever lift their gaze from the door.
The door; a crimson sentinel of conformity’s’ demands. A gate
To a finite space of infinite secluded terrors. It’s mocking facade,
Not the true foundation of the haunting visage, but it’s chosen
Illumination against the choking nothingness around it.
There is nothing else but it, and if the lights lose
Their oppressive gleaming, there will be nothing.
Would it not be better for the deep to win the ever waging war
Against our struggles to find hints of sight and recognition?
If the door were to vanish from the othering out there,
then it would be impossible to not turn inward. A forced reflection,
a mirror that’s presence is known, existence felt, but is unseen,
only available when the absence is absolute.
Nonplussed, the bastion remains, a gravity well pulsing
In and out the night, as if the darkness centered around
Maintaining the illusion of safety from knowing ourselves.
Do not be afraid, you will not be forsaken or alone with anything
Other than the beating of your quickened pulse, the edges
Of your vision shrinking until all that you are
Is mirrored in that crimson sentinel.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 9:28 PM UTC
In death, perhaps we are like water
making our way ever deeper from sand and sky.
Maybe we fly, linger and hover awhile
and the dream of becoming a bird is real.
Maybe we are stars, floating oceans of night skies
moving toward divine light in swooping waves
pushing upwards through embryonic waters
spilling over the soul
again and again.
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 8:20 PM UTC
you fall like umbilical cords
for the purpose of befriending
bacteria at the site of your
bloated corpse collection.
the way you make me vibrate is a
witch trial, my talismans shaking
as i grasp the embryonic roots. do you
know what kind of flora we found
in the red maple swamp today? do you
wrap around the left horn of dionysus?
there is a space between your lips,
not the upper, not the lower, but the
plane at which they meet. this is where i
want to stir my cauldron, this is what i
want to bathe in poison.
water bearer! do not bring me
indica, do not bring me purple orchids,
i am only pleased by small mammals
writhing from the corners of your fangs
(a secret that can only be sealed sanguinarily).
and now tell me: when your veins
turn like supernovas, when your minions
dance for you in throngs, do you exhale
the debris? do you eat the coral berries?
do you remember when we hunted that
mammoth in full cryogene, in full rhapsody?
i held you at the sun's eclipse as time slid by like timid snakes.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC
The sky was a cornflower
and the trees heavy
with birdsong
air fragrant with freshness
cooling the silk of my bare
heat rising from my
skin in shades of
tropical
morning pond
oasis of damp promise
teeming with life
under surface
mini color-popped creatures
humming with
fluorescent vitality
fronds reaching out
in an aquatic dance
nourishing the gateway
to inner organs
with sweet
vitamin love
as a trip of
buzzing, faintly heard
opens into my brainwave
revitalizing
cleaning out toxicity
pushing out
words that lower
self-worth
bringing up subconscious
potions of power
harmonious with the new,
embryonic fluid of clear
reaching deep
into corners of
brittle heartdust
And my lotus soul opens
a small glowing orb
expanding in polychrome prisms
to the glory of
aurora-tipped streaks
as straight into
my aching heart
the quenching dawn
speaks
My thirst slaked by
nature's mantra,
I now stand waist-deep
into grounded
and heavenly clarity,
feeling water lilies bloom
between my thighs
as I take the occasion
to pick up the pieces
where my soul
left off
and despite all odds,
arise
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 12:04 AM UTC
As I was a child,
Unlike the normal mass.
I wanted to be the nightingale
The best in class.
A habit I planted,
In the Garden of Eden.
Watered by the grief of my past,
As it grew taller, the fruit sweetened.
I had sinned,
Profited from competition’s demise.
Stole his talent,
Grew in age but not that wise.
What enables, divine
What disables, human.
Got out of luck and empathy,
In apathy, like an ungrateful yeoman.
Couldn't wash the mirror,
Need to wash my face.
Blinded by my addiction of fame,
Embryonic, falling from the summit in rage.
Now I am a pavement artist,
Pride and sin hath a fall.
Living with and like stray,
Failing my life as the nature called.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
This is a noted to remind us all to grow tired of any questionable and uncertain path your relationship might take and always realize that women like emotional nurturing and centering in themselves- which helps them to grow in a positive / sane direction i've often wondered and it is't a pleasant wonder why the wrong people fall in love and become a pair - what causes cracks in the foundation of love - some warp in the chromosomes, some flaw in the genes a thin film of paranoia in the embryonic sac ? is it the stresses of modern life or Mozart's Requiem of the full moon or no moon at all? was it the march beyond being strangers perhaps- that destroyer of great expectations ? or does love bring forth a dormant madness that always begins on a day that other wise seems normal - beautiful even, fate thumbing its nose at the future ? mutual sharing is required for any lasting relationship but sharing is not in itself what i'm talking about. nor is relationship. i'm talking of the capacity to meet and be met such meetings from time to time are the essential growing points in any live relationship could hardly be used. the modern emphasis on relationships between two people can degenerate into mere exclusiveness and a self-conscious sharing which valuable though it is may become an infringement of privacy or an abuse of intimacy. deliberate sharing is dangerous. new ideas which are forming in the dephs of the mind can be destroyed or crippled by being shared to soon it's like dragging a baby from the womb before it's ready to to be born or digging a tulip bulb up to watch the sprouting of the roots respect for another person's privacy is as important as sharing thoughts the deepest communication will in any case take place in moments of silence every time i think it is one's own attitude not the the relationship on which one needs to work it's a fact that in any partnership if one partner becomes quite clear in himself what it is the situation requires the chances are it will not even be necessary to voice it the other will somehow pick up the point and comply with no words said internal clarity anywhere seems to have the effect of an invisible guiding force can be trusted to affect not only personal relationships but outer situations for the person who has achieved inner clarity new paths appear and doors open without the need to knock
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 6:52 PM UTC
life is a gestation whom due time is like no other
every cramp of it is a question to a hint to an answer
too many ways, paths, hopes and names to consider
umbilical cord is to feed, from reality, thirst and hunger
the embryonic soul and soul ought to suffer or to suffer
shall it ignore ignorance, it will drink thirst and eat hunger
places to materialize in, moments, similitudes to buffer
may it illuminate ignorance, it will eat thirst and drink hunger
questions to answers, labyrinths in mazes, thanks to prancer
pica seeks pleasure whom apogee reality will witness never
but to baby senses ****** is the eternal supposed starter
life is due, life is dead, illusion, O soul here is your answer
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 1:50 AM UTC
I was on the way to find out my destination,
It was a rugged terrain without shed of trees on the road side,
Burning Sun shine on the top of my head and
Stony patches below my foot,
On a junction of the two roads,
You came out!
With …..
“Generous green of forest in our face,
Deepest blue of ocean in your eyes,
Melodious wind of mountain valley on your hair and
Splendid light of the don on your smile”,
As if this new path after this junction
going to lead me to the nature’s own womb.
Conversely, when we face each other you asked
‘Who I am?’ and ‘where I am going to?’
I was surprised; no one poses such questions to me on this long walk,
But I have already comes a crossed the Security man with gun in their hand,
The Beggar with stony beggaring plate in their hand,
The Food vendors with hot food in their basket,
The Knowledge tycoon with bag of books on their shoulder,
The Political guardian with embryonic power in their muscle,
No one asked any thing!
Not even look at me!
Probably for them either ‘I was insignificant or invisible!’
But your questions,
Compel me to think about my identity,
I don’t have a search engine,
to take help from the world wide web of identity,
So, when observing you with sensors of Imagination, Emotion and Cognition,
I found my lost identity in you,
As your child everything rooted in you,
Than I started to walk with you
Just to get the aspiration of living planet and
To protect you from the spite of ownerships, rationality, consumerism,
and demonstrations humanity.
But after a while,
Every one started to pose question,
“Who I am?”
“Why I am walking with you?”
“How I get the right to do so?”
Than I replied my scruples enlighten me to do so!
No one understands ‘what I replied?’
Now the Political guardian of the society starts a campaign,
The knowledge baron prepared software for this operation,
The beggar and food vendor distributing the literature with illustrative interpretation,
That…..
“People like me are threat to the society”!
“This is an evil force of our society”!
Tomorrow…..
The security man going to declare a ‘decree’ on
Emotion, Conscience, Humanity and Love.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC