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Janvi shukla Feb 2015
Meri bebasi ka bayaan hai
bas chal raha na iss ghadi
Meri bebasi ka bayaan hai
bas chal raha na iss ghadi

Ras hasrat ka nichod doon
Kas baahon mein aa tod doon
Chaahoon kya jaanu naa
Chheen loon chhod doon
Iss lamhe kya kar jaaun
Iss lamhe kya kar jaaun..
Iss lamhe kya kar doon jo mujhe chain mile aaraam mile
Aur **.. Aur **
Saans ka shor ** aanch bhi aur badhe
Aur **.. Aur **
Saans ka shor ** taap bhi aur chadhe
Aur **.. Aur **
Aur mile hum aur bhi jal jaaye

Tujhe pehli baar main milta hoon har dafaa
Meri bebasi ka bayaan hai

Tujhe chheen loon ya chhod doon
Maang loon yaa mod doon
Iss lamhe kya kar jaaun
Iss lamhe kya kar doon
Jo mujhe chain mile aaram mile

Aur **.. Aur **
Saans ka shor ** aanch bhi aur badhe
Aur **.. Aur **
Saans ka shor ** taap bhi aur chadhe
Aur **.. Aur **
Aur mile hum aur bhi jal jaayein

le le le........
Jiya jiya...
Piya piya...
ye hey....

Main hasrat mein ek uljhi dor huaa
Suljha de ** **.....
Main dastak hoon
Tu bandh kiwaado sa
Khul ja re **
O bebasi mann mein basi
Aa Jeete jeete jee le sapna

Aur **.. aur **
Saans ka shor ** aanch ki aur badhe
Aur **.. aur **
Saans ka shor ** taap ki aur chadhe
Aur **.. aur **
Aur mile hum aur bhi jal jaaye

Ruke se naa ruke
Ye naa thake
Aandhi si jo chale inn saanso ki
Pata bhi naa chale kahaan pe kya jale
Hai darr se, tann-mann ki, siharan se
Hasrat ki, sulgan se
Bhadke aur shola shola
Jale bujhe dhuaan dhuaan
O dhuaan dhuaan
Lage mujhe dhuaan dhuaan o

Meri bebasi ka bayaan hai
Meri bebasi ka bayaan hai
Meri bebasi ka bayaan hai
Aapka saath humein har janam mein mile,
Dua hai hamari aapke jivan mein phul khile.

Sabse khushnaseeb hai hum mere humsafar,
Jo aapka saath hai hamare saath har dagar.

Meri rooh ka rishta hai gehra us rooh se,
Chehra basa hai sirf aapka dil ki tasveer mein.

Sagar ki gehrayi bhi kam hai is mohabbat ke saamne,
Beinteha mohabbat hai tumse kehti hai dadhkane.

Ruke na zindagi me hamare pyaar ki hawa,
Hum tumhare hain tum hamare oo humnawa.

Sukoon milta hai sun khud ka naam aapke saath,
Jaise koi subah judi ** shaam ke saath.

Meri haathon ki lakeere, mehandi sirf aap **,
Har pal aapka hi rehta hai khayal humko.

Qubool ** gayi har dua tumhari,
Jab se mili hain saanse hamari.

Dil ki gehrayi se chand ki roshni se,
Kehna chahte hain hum kuch aapse.

Phulo ke kagaz par likhte hain kuch labz,
Beinteha mohabbat hai har lamha har nabz.

Jaati nahi aankhon se surat aapki,
Aapki zindagi mein rang bharne ki kasam khayi.

Mil gaye humein hamare bholenaath,
Jab se mila is khaas dost ka saath .

Aapko dekhte hi ** jaata hai dil bekaraar,
Aapko mile khushiyan beshumaar.

Jab saath hai aapka dil mein dadhkan ki jagah,
Fir zindagi ko saanso ki jaroorat kahan.

Rabb se yhi ibadat mein karte hain fariyaad,
Ye jodi yu hi banaye rakhna kr tumhe yaad.

Kabhi ruth na jaana humse piya,
Saath rehne ka vaada hai kiya .

Jabse mehsoos kiya is dil ne aapko,
Milne gayi zameen par jannat humko.

Pyaar saccha ** tou waqt bhi Ruk hai jaata,
Is pavitra rishtey ke liye aasman bhi jukh jaata.

Aapse shuru hote hain hum aapke saath hi khatam,
Saath rahenge aapke har janam mere sanam.
Shrivastva MK Jun 2015
Sare jahan se pyara ye hindostan hamara,
Na ruke the hum na rukenge kabhi,
Badhate chale jayenge lekar yahi nara,
Sare jahan se pyara ye hindostan hamara,

Geet gate chalenge, hath milate chalenge,
Raksha karne ka pran lekar hum apna sar katate chalenge,
Na jhukaye the hum, na jhukayenge kabhi
Mita denge khud ko apne desh ke liye yahi hain pran hamara,
Sare jahan se pyara ye hindostan hamara,

Dekhlo ai dusmano hum pith pichhe war karne wale kayar nahi,
Hum sher hain apne desh ka tum jaise kayar nahi,.
Uncha rahega sda ye TINRANGA hamara,
Sare jahan se pyara ye hindostan hamara,

Kaise bhula de wo sahidon ki purani yaadein,
Jinhone khud ko mita di es desh ki suraksha ke liye,
Chhod chale gye wo khun se latfath yaadein,
Etihas ke panno me likhenge dobara,
Vishwa me sabse uper rahega
Ye hindostan hamara,
hindostan hamara......
IT IS DEDICATED FOR ALL FREEDOM FIGHTERS OF INDIA. EVEN THEY ARE NOT ALIVE BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS ALIVE IN MY HEART.
Jaida toh manga bhi na tha
husn e Deedar
Khud hi kyu chala gaya bewaqt Bina bataye tujhe

Ab tadap Raha hu mein
Khuch jaida neend me
Ek waqt ke khyaal e aashiqui me
Aur kab subhah se raat ** gayi
Fursat e dard

Raaton ki neend kho si gayi
Mujh se phir kehne lagi
Ab der na kar..



Laut ja in khyaalon ki kasmakash se
Ya
Phir aa ja Bina ruke Panchi ki tarah

Intezaar e intezar
Kab tak

Khoya Rahu ish kadar
Ki khud se bhi mein itna bekhabar
..


..

.
..

.
Monika May 2015
Slová,
ktoré sa ti snažím naznačiť
sú kameňmi mojej duše
ak zostanú skryté.

Ráno keď sa prebúdzam,
počujem klopot tvojich topánok
v zákutiach mojej ospalej mysle.

Za hlbokej noci
ma sprevádzaš, bezcieľne  
ruka v ruke brázdime ulice.

Slnko je vysoko.
Rovnako moja zblúdená myšlienka.
Hádaj na čo myslím!

(Si to ty a *** ty.)

Stratený vo vetre,
v prievane mojej mysle.
Prechádzajme sa spolu...
In case some of you are slovaks (which I highly doubt). I wrote this for my loved one...
Saša D Lović Sep 2014
1

gledao je dugo svoju sen
zakrvavljenim očima
  grlo mu se grčilo

sekiru sa zida da ponese
u šumu
  šta bi drugo

inače često dovodi sebe
u takvu situaciju
  ne zbog nečeg patološkog

ne zbog neke skrivene želje
već zbog šume
  ona je i ovog puta kriva

usne su mu drhtale
šumom odzvanjao njegov dah
  drveće počelo da vrišti

suze cerove kvasile humus
no to ga ovog puta ne pokoleba
  ovog puta otići će mnogo dalje

na sekiru pade zrak
i ona umi njegovo telo
  svojim sjajem


2

mala fide
dim se vije mehovi nadimaju
  čekići biju

znojavi kovači brkove suku
piju vodu metal stenje
  pod serijom teških udaraca

crveni se još nerođena sekira
u agoniji nastajanja
  sijaju se oštri zub i uvo tupo

pa je utom zgrabiše klešta
sve zaneme
  sve sačeka prvi vrisak

susret sa vodom
mala fide
  šta avaj nastade


3

u početku beše raka
i on je plesao oko nje
  poslednji ples

uma atrofičnog
udovi mu leteli sekli etar
  bale kvasila mu lice

očiju zakrvavljenih
ni glasa da pusti
  zmije su stenjale upregnute

niz amove otrov se slivao
raka poče da biva jezero
  drveće spustilo grane

i sve više grdilo mu lice
o boli
  ples je bivao sve sporiji

ptice su sve tiše rikale
iz tame poče da se rađa tama
  grđa i crnja

muve su naokolo zujale
drveće počelo da vrišti
  suze cerove kvasile humus


4

i kako je plakala sekira
naišavši na kamen
  vatrene suze prštale naokolo

kamen se vrteo kamen je jeo
vatrene suze
  i zub oštriji postajaše

svetlost njena poče da izjeda tamu
grđu i crnju
  od one pređašnje

pade zrak na nagrđeno lice
i stade sa plesom
  zmijama skide jaram

umi udove svoje u jezeru
urlik zapara galamu oko njega
  i nastade tišina tišina tišina

kezio se njegov lik
sa mirne površine
  progledao je


5

u početku beše i šuma
prašuma beskrajna
  u umu njegovom atrofičnom

i u njoj on i ona u njemu
podjednako
  plakao on plakala i šuma

jeli jedno drugo
grlo mu se grčilo
  udovi sušili crni dani behu

anđeli su sletali
kljucali mu oči
  koje su bile voda

donosili vatru u prašumu
da sagori um njegov atrofični
  vatra se gasila

donosili i vodu vodu mutnu vodu bistru
belu crvenu zelenu bilo kakvu
  voda se gasila


6

išla je sekira iz ruke u ruku
brzo i sigurno
  kroz vatru kroz vodu

padale glave
padalo drveće
  zub oštriji uvo tuplje držalje crnje

od krvi od zemlje
sekira je kružila
  tog su dana žene crno mleko muzle

ah nesreće
ptice su sve divlje rikale
  muve su zujale

pauci se razmrežaše
između prstiju njegovih
  ključala je lava u grudima šume

kezio se njegov lik
sa mirne površine
  jezera


7

sa rukom stopila se sekira
skameni se dah pogled znoj
  kidao je dronjke od odeće

bale kvasila mu lice
konji su bili nemirni
  anđeoskim hučanjem šuma ga zvala

lišće je padalo sa drveća
magla proždirala etar
  ptice behu odletele

rožnjače mu se zabrazdiše
srce poče da kuca
  sekira urliče

anđeli behu odleteli
samo su muve zujale
  on penio

šuma hučala
jezero ključalo
  tišina


8

na kraju beše svetlost
prasvetlost beskrajna
  u umu njegovom atrofičnom

i u njoj on i ona u njemu
podjednako
  smejao se on smejala se i svetlost

jeli jedno drugo
grlo mu se širilo
  udovi listali crni dani behu prošli

demoni su izranjali
kljucali oči
  koje su bile vatra

donosili gmazove u svetlost
da opogane um atrofični
  gmazovi se sušili

donosili pegaze sa rogom
bele crvrne zelene bilo kakve
  krila im otpadala


9

stajali bi sekira i on stopljeni
u agoniji
  svetlost zaslepi oko njegovo

iz rožnjače kapala je lava
tuga poče da izjeda svetlost
  grđu i crnju od pređašnje

zub tuplji uvo oštrije držalje istrošeno
pade tren na nagrđeno lice
  i poče sa plesom

zmijama jaram na vrat
kezilo se njegovo lice sa dna rake
  progledao je


10

granulo je sunce i nesta svetlosti
zmije su strašno siktale
  upregnute

gledale kako se otrov iz jezera
pretvara u oblak
  oblak zakri sunce

i njegov um atrofični
udovi mu leteli
  pogađali ptice

muve su zujale
očiju zakrvavljenih
  pusti glas planine su se tresle

vetar poče da duva
umrsi mu kosu koža mu se ospe
  iz tabana poče korenje da niče


11

sva se magla upi u njega
on spusti sekiru u raku
  u raku doteče lava

i ne bi više zuba oštrog uva tupog
šume prašume svetlosti prasvetlosti
  jednostavno ne bi

na kraju beše
on
  u agoniji

postojao je
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
psychosis and osmosis....
   one the soul, the other
simply water...
      in dictionary
verbatim:
the passage of a solvent (ego) through
a semipermeable membrane (body) from
a less concentrated (thought) to a more
concentrated solution (soul) until both
solutions are of the same concentration (now) -
    and the end of a romance is?
the so called "madness"
becomes a topic less and less used
by writers of fiction,
  it becomes genuine,
it also means fiction parasites,
poets included, don't dare to tread
into a goose-march stepping into this Hades....
    you don't come round these parts by
yourself... unless you're hoping to
end up dead... or trapped by a dialectical
spiderweb with talking spinders...
       you dont get to type  this ailment out...
not in the same way you write the
word osmosis....
but then again, in the west you get to
be a victim of a crime: the criminal
       gets all the perks and you get
   Belgian mud to sniff,
while a monarchy gets to celebrate
its 65th sapphire encirclement...
               psychosis should be as clear as
osmosis...
                 in that we need water....
                    obviously very few people understand
this...
                dein die kopftod...
   i call an end to romantics with "madness",
well... given cancer has the prioraties...
                so the crowd might
congregate at Golgotha...
                  i say: walk the, ******* crab!
side-ways, yes, side-ways,
   like imitating suicide on a ledge....
you made enough money from the diseases,
true when under the scalpel:
dis- (negated) -ease (do i need
to exfoliate this?) -
                   i can only see a death of making
certain diseases a case for the worthwhile tale
of selling novels...
            i can't imagine exploiting
the said diseases... but if i was born with
a capitalist conscience, i'd hardly think of
possessing a conscience...
               i'd say death to the romance
of establishing a literary subject...
              i'd prescribe the Koran...
           as odd as it might sound...
you don't really hear how
psychosis can really be stated lorem ipsum
ad hoc...
   the first you hear is
         the miser medatitive attempts in
the medium, precipitating into paranoid
schizophrenia... no more medical than it is:
politico-journalistic...
                 psychosis and osmosis...
what's the difference... one engages the soul....
the other... water...
the ending is the same -osis...
   a verb, an activity self-explanatory
in a name... easily digested via journalistic
sensationalism...
        it becomes a death then the "mad" onces
realise you're herding them into a novel
and rather run a half marathon for
  the cancer victims...
   then ***** begins to turn sticky....
                 the hierarchy of diseases emerges...
cancer pharaoh... alongside the other adverts
for flu, smomking and lesser diseases...
then they tell you how Muhammad treated
the lunatics like modern Islam might deal with
Sufis...
                   some would care to say:
these people, are, not, money-dispensing
machines!
                        but then again...
who gives a ****... i don't even know or care
if you're conscious,
    i know that conscience is not part
of your consciousness, then i'm treating you
are semi-coordinate,
   probably sleepwalking through your so
called life...
   madess has no romance for a novel,
but since you testify to people being mad
only via a model... i can't but expect your novels
to later come from glamour models
writing their ghost-biographies...
   ghostwriters... auto- not near
unless bound to refining a.i.,
oh don't worry: only books written
as books necessarily sold...
                      this has gone beyond pimping
the pompous... it really has...
                  i can't even be prone to pomp,
i can't believe in writing a book
like i might don a cravat or a beefeaters' uniform...
      books have nothing
      grand about them...
writing them we're cheap ****... very much akin
to the last ruke on the chess board:
      lifestyle journalists with  a steady income
from being printed in newspapers...
did you know robots will replace 250,000 jobs
bound to the NHS and Whitehall?
    better write scrappy, ******-doo....
they might think you're human...
           then i guess it only sounds as the prompt:
write doubly human...
   for the added effect...
             write like those employed by newspapers,
esp. the opinion columns...
can shove it up their *****...
   drink theoir gin & tonics...
think their opinions,
   and replace their premature / non-existent
dialectics, by crushing ice-cubes with their teeth.
    i can only claim being human
by not romanticising "madness"...
                         i think it's a tabloid
venture that's, well... deservedly in need of a novel...
  i can only suggest the alternative:
stop the romance of "madness",
            and stop desiring to write novels about "it",
before you turn and realise
that your sanity was prone to stage
           the alternative... zeitgeist and insect
"typo" homily.
oh, it's there... but no one thinks those people
are half-as-cult-like as they,
         there's no "secret" / shadow bribing
someone from both ease, and from seeing
an ease for dis...
                     it's just nice, seeing people pray,
kneel...
                 play into the hands of a puppeteer...
who may or may not exist...
counter to all the intelligent arguments:
try merely existing, rather than living...
  try to state i think therefore i am:
            and move it away from forgetting
that you think, and simply live...
             most people who express life
hardly ever think...
                   well... you can't see thought:
meaning their life is not so cyclic
and at the same time limited...
               cogito ergo sum is equivalent to
Zeno's paradox...
     to occupy yourself with thinking
          is to de-occupy yourself with living...
you can try to prove with thought that you
exist, but in that same instance:
your thought means less and less...
since by thinking occupy a finite space...
   and with life about you taking its course...
your cogito becomes trapped in a noumenon...
since that your self cannot
                    express a phenomenon...
given the number of example trapped
in the category of **** sapiens,
this is as natural as taking antibiotics for
a flu... only that it's purely cognitive...
or rather: cogito per se...
            cogito per se ergo sum quasi se...
given non cogito est pseudo cogito ergo sum...
   mind you: there's no pseduo sum...
we already rule given we can't
turn into the abstract burial ground of hindus
that's a fire... and how we have strated
to build up a phobia for being taken into the earth
for insect food...
   even the pagans believed to give the body
a soul, a fire burial...
   if that practice remained, there would
be no reference to monotheistic ****...
       or we would turn into Chinese omnivores...
i find it bewildering that the Hidus and Chinese
have been so ****** patient with us...
count to 1 billion in English...
  years... probably another 1000 years to
reach that number of snooker-player plumbers
and carpenters ready like vulchers...
  cos we really needed that "perfected" aesthetic
of a web-page to really, really clog our brains...
thinking that it wouldn't precipitate into
a loss of body, a sudden loss of body,
  and the emerges of youth with mental illnesses
akin to premature depression, when depression
was the disease of the old, in the gravity cursing
toward, for ****'s sake! Homer!
    yes, the Greek poet!
                  how can you suddenly expect
to make mentala illness a myth, + a taboo...
when you prescribed people gym memberships...
and a complete lack of manual labour,
having exported it to China...
  the ******* on about?
      we're suddenly the new Marxist theory samples...
brains in pickle-jars...
     completely spineless!
                 we wanted both mind and body...
instead... the powers-at-be... told us:
you only need a mind... no body...
   body belongs to hamster... to the gym...
  well... but i really wanted to think crap and hammer
in nails all day... no can do... Chinese have it...
well...
                 what's the point now?
how else would Islam, not be agitated in prescribing us
a war?
           i still find it bewildering that the Chinese
and the Indians (2 billions, and counting)
are so patient with us...
                   still... you want to know why
there's an escalation in youth mental illness in the west?
you gave their bodies to the Chinese...
  no way in the world can their minds (including
my own) ever reach a plateau of an Einstein that
would be satisfactory for the authorities,
to move away from Einstein... and establish
a telekinetic norm (as seen on adverts).
persefona Jun 2015
taj moj dragi,
što mi nije kao niko na ovome svetu
kada nađem se u snovima prejedem se slatkišima, tovarim čokoladice i bombone i šarene kremove da bih ćutala
ako se ušećeri poješce ga ljubičaste mušice, pomislih
pa se tako bojim još po koje krilatice, kao recimo aviona ili šarene lastavice
a ja kad-kad kratko i nespretno letim
punim se kamenjem i betonom
a praznim groznicom mednom

kada ruke ko dve reke ispoliva, useče oko mojih ko klavir rebara
pa mi se zbunjene pčele sele kroz čelo i telo celo
traži se nešto od kruške slađe
tu na usnama izvor namiguje

pa taj se, putnik čarobnjak
samnom ko lipa njiše
zimu šapatom pretvara u igru pustinjskog vetra
otvori oči i eto ga more

od koje li je on vrste?

za ogolićenu dušu odelo,
što lanenog kroja cvrstinu krije
nabori nemira i divljine
beskraj užarene širine
šavovi boje sunca
broje tugu nedostižnu

sa njim je toplo
sa njim je ritam najsjajnije zvezde
Pal pal
Dil e dosti
Dooba yeh dil
Bin ruke bawra ghumta
Jaise ki waqt ko gawata...pal do pal
amber vich nazarein milata akela dil
.
..
...
....
.....
......
Ain Sep 2020
“Hum to hain bas parinde aasmaanon mein basar apna...
Kuch hi din ka theherna phir shuru hota Safar apna...
Ruke hain hum to bas jholi ko kuch neki se bharne ko...
Bulandi par hai jaana khoob ke us par hai ghar apna...”
BJ Sep 2020
Kabhi phir se, aajao
  "bas mere banke."
Sare taar cher jaao,
"soone man ke".
Paas betho, kuch to batao.
Usi ada se, muskurao.
Jo tum rutho, hum mana le.
Tere nakhre, bhi utha le.
Vo akad me, kya ada thi.
Teri narazgi b, maza thi.
Ji bhar k, dekhlu
Aja phir se, ban than ke.
Kabhi phir se, aajao
  "bas mere banke."
Sare taar cher jaao,
"soone man ke".
Tu bhi mna le, kabhi jo roothe.
Chore de tere, tewar ye jhoothe.
Koi dekhe tuje, mera jalna.
Uff ye bekhauf,tera chalna.
Bin ruke tere bole jana.
Mile jo ankhein, palkein jhukana.
Kitni batein, hai adhuri..
Nyi yadein, hai zaroori.
Chadhi collar, teri gira de.
Fold sleeves,unfold kara de.
Gala laga ke, band kardu.
Teri shirt k jo, khule button the.

Kabhi phir se, aajao
  "bas mere banke."
Sare taar cher jaao,
"soone man ke".
# BJ writes
# bj diaries
# incomplete
Aisa Manzar aa Gaya
Ki Nazar hote hue bhi
Nazardaaz pe Mazbur yeh Dil
Aankhein hai Dard se bhari
Aur chalte chalte...
Ruke toh ruk hi gaye...
Phir se chale...kya?
Phir se boond
Phirne lagi
Tanhai ke agal bagal
Judaai...bin mile
..waqt e bandagi...
Jhalne lagi...nadiyon  ki muskurahat
Rukne se bhi na ruke....
Na jane kyu nadiyaan jali?...
Znaci, doticna osoba
je mnogo brbljala
pa si morala
da joj zapusis usta

Kapiram ;)

mh
Irena Adler Nov 2018
I tekla je krv
Tekla li je tekla,
Na sve strane!

Tuzno bese to vreme
Kad se lasta zaljubi u gavrana
I slomi svoje rame
ruke
Grehe I
SVE
Grane.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2018
unless i know not of the saxon
proverb,
let me spell it out in latin
innocentes prior reus...
well... the earth is suddenly flat...
            "all of a sudden"...
in that?
                 the earth rises prior
to the sun....
                       **** the elaboration
of the physical sciences...
        i want: the grit, grind,
             and gravel of what a handshake
ought to be: free from the inadequacy      
of children...
                    and the erotica of lies!
very much akin to wearing masks...
                     only leeches manage
to craft their material possessions
via short-scripts...
      mostly egyptians, which the arabs
shouldn't trust...
      why? because of:
if you ever had a grandma:
cesur alemdaroğlu (the janissary beauty
of non-turkish origin),
  and... my my my, my...
      sühan korludağ...
                   petty blonde petty please...
deaf ears... donkey was whipped...
still didn't buge over the hallucinatory
carrot....
                     b'ah! b'ah!
              loves and leisures lost
to what could have been readied labours!
               stuttering goat.
topsy... turvy... arabica spreschen...
                you are not
guilty, until proven
innocent, but then again,
mob ruke law to shove pawn:
                reus prior innocentes...
            you are now, unfortumately
european...
   you are: guilty until proven innocent...
rather than innocent until
proven guilty....
                 east comes west,
or rather: west prior to all east
other than hiroshima...
          oh now they tell you they're
paranoid about the power,
hiroshima and nagasaki wasn't enough...
testing in the pacific just about did...
get me off, this ******* asylum island!
              upside-down...
             does it really matter these days
to attach oneself to a history?
                   unless it doesn't weight in one
on one with a cinema framnchise?
              as far as i am concerned
the english speaking world can forget the:
innocent until proven guilty
jurisprudence ethos....
                           and the revision being?
you're guilty,
                  whatever proof there is,
is only worth relegation to
2nd tier medicine...
                          either an escape route
via philosophy,
                      or going mad
via zoology...
                          let it be known though:
innocent until proven guilty
  is an argument, dead in anglo-saxon
jurisprudence...
                   #time's up
                 #metoo... etc. etc.,
                  just making sure you know
how anglo-saxon jurisprudence was
inverted into a continental model...
                  of passing laws...
             you're guilty,
               18 years in prison and they're
still debating whether you're safe to
be reintroduced into society...
                           on the basis of:
****... we have made a false incarcertaion...
              good luck... adios!
don't look at me,
         i'm the son who earned the money
and gave it to his mother,
but didn't bother to paint her kitchen with
fresh canary hues...
                           i'm the one:
who will ultimately reveal
        the current times,
by allowing myself to wash my hands clean
of the matter, akin to pontius pilate;
let, the games, begin.
Pitala sam je da mi pokaze koliko me ne voli

Rasirila je ruke najvise sto je mogla

I tako sam se nasla u njenom zagrljaju


Eh, kakvi ludi snovi pod temperaturom

mh okt. 2017

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