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Recently by kashkin
In Atlanta
As I walk into thunder storms
The old need t o remain sane
Different land and its customs
Different I am to them
Different they are to me
There is no music but of my own
As I recreate these days and nights
Words form out from indifference
As I finish up old stories and poems
I am the inhabitant in room 335
On third floor, with curtains drawn
Encaged in concrete and glass
An empty promise sold to the world
Of liberty, freedom and opportunity
Hear only I echo of my thoughts
Different I am to them and this place
Different they are to me and my land!
Kashkin
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kashkin
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