I wonder where words go to hide when awkward silence shows up How golden thoughts hide their lustre disguising themselves among dusty aisles within the darker alcoves of the mind Wonder how angry words keep silent, or how truths maintain the status quo a within parched dog-eared vellums I wonder how tongues stay cheerfully red,… Read More
You and I….. We’re the symphony that begun with the soft patter of rain drops…. Patiently we found our key, that spot where we found comfort…. I refuse to characterize us with the new age poet’s muse of “perfect imperfection” Nah Instead we’re nature’s ode to majesty. You and me….. like when nature creates diamonds… Read More
The pictures always stuck fast, staying in spite of a hostile reception Finding comfort in the spaces in between thoughts. Broken pieces of pottery, shards of glass, tears of an orphaned child, the thunderous sobs of an untethered soul, the crowded silence of the oppressed Me.
The outer margins of the wound were surgically traced with grace and longing. Curious, thought the knife, that there was actual affection. For somehow in this lopsided cosmere that contrived to bring these two together, there’d been born a kind of perverted relationship among these two. The wound, which by very definition was an effigy… Read More
It’s incredible, the pieces that survive after a storm, How the whole gets reduced to rubble yet those rubble refuse to fade into oblivion How by becoming minimalist, their impact grows several folds more powerful – Crushing. How despite the wreckage that strectches into the horizon, those little pieces turn out to be more potent… Read More Wreckage
I took quill to parchment with all the grace of a schizophrenic Seeking to drain my soul onto the barren wastelands of the sheets Praying that those same wastelands would prove undaunted by the irascible tempest fountaining from said soul….. The frightening rage – hoping, nay praying, that the capillaries on the pages have thick enough… Read More Hope
I have always had questions. One of my prominent memories of childhood is irritating my mum with several questions and forcing her to send me off to my room so she can think. Somehow, I didn’t manage to drop this habit as I grew and people remark at me that I ask an awful lot… Read More WHY WE SHOULD ARGUE: