Station
Pools merge on the station floor, concrete, used by the multitudes, half-finished conversations, exchanged glances, last-minute kisses and hastily arranged next meetings.
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- 747 reads
The Journey
I’m finding life Finally I’m finding it After years of loss In a sea of confusion And lonesome wonderings I’m finding life Actually it’s been there All the time
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- 1286 reads
Claire De Lune
Dear Mrs. Kang,
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- 1769 reads
bitter harvest
gripping story of ideological conflict in the rural Indian belt.
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- 824 reads
The heart whispers
The heart whispers faint old fears once again! And these hands dither holding fag ends Neck shaking stiffens within the membrane The cortex quivers and a storm, transcends.
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- 819 reads
Eight Foot Blue - 6
What I hated most about life, and the holiday, was walking anywhere with Dad.
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She wore a feather bower
She wore a feather bower Lay upon the ground To me it wasn’t a great mystery To me—was her crown? Had my princedom, my esprit This empted hour
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- 1286 reads