November 19, 2025 New York

A counter-archive fragments – this existed — briefly — and owes nothing to history.

Under the sleepless lights of the airport hall,

surrounded by the constant rush of strangers,

a taste of freedom, provisional,

but entirely mine…

+ metaphor – lyrical poem…

The salt of freedom

Under the sleepless lights of the airport hall,
the night hums like a restless sea.
Strangers pass, waves without faces,
and on my tongue lingers
a brief salt of freedom,
fragile as foam— provisional,
but entirely mine.

Klara Buda ©KB

You can publish mentioning Klara Kuda and Klarabudapost