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A HALF MOON

A HALF MOON Since when are you hanging there, half moon, drifting palely in the sky? The wind rises, the nightfall brings a chill, and the edge of
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WRITING POETRY

Germain Droogenbroodt, Picture Loek Groenendijk WRITING POETRY To find the fragile balance between silence and word between the road and the deviation between the nameless and the nameable
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THE HEART

Painting by Barbaras BilderKunst THE HEART They say it’s the size of my clenched fist. Small, then, but that’s enough to set in motion all of this. It’s
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THE WINDOW

  THE WINDOW When my faith was hanging by the weak thread of justice and in the whole city the hearts of my lamps were being torn to
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EXILE

  EXILE In the foreign city with an incomprehensible language you are walking along unfamiliar streets; not even the water of the river which flows under the stone
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