In vain, I wait. I travel with empty suitcases. With empty poems. In the Eastern Ukraine, we see these faces we last saw during the war in Yugoslavia: Faces of ancient hate, violence, cruelty. Again, someone opened gate 7Omega of hell.
Tagged with: Hell • Writing
This entry was posted on Sunday, April 27th, 2014 at 21:20 and is filed under English Posts.
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