Riding on a flying saucer Meeting on the doorstep Of your house for the first Of a thousand fab rides Flying you through to outer space – A secret aerodrome That’ll become our perfect place That’ll change our lives For the worst and the best.
Souls wielding Time and opportunities Arising from moments Instant flashes Turning wheels
She sighed at the sight of him. He tried to grab her hand. She dodged his attempt and pulled away. He had betrayed her. She never asked him to be perfect. Not even kind. All she wanted from him was honesty. Knowing he would never lie to her face.
Earthbound my lone soul Takes off in leaps and bounds, still Hoping to land home.
Creatures of this Earth – humans – Cats, dogs, horses, and cattle – domestic – Lions, and gazelles, snakes, and snails – Wild things – tigers, wolves. I want to be close to you Understand your ways,
April 1975 My brother and I had built that tree house next to our house with our uncle six years ago. Since then, on summer days, from dawn to dusk, we would sit there and pretend it was the largest, best-fortified castle in the kingdom
Pressing on the bottle of anti-inflammatory cream, I am collecting the relieving, transparent fluid in my palm. I apply it on her ageing knees, Her arms, her back, Her hands – She tells me, they too have started misbehaving Sending flashes of pain and waves of paralysis,
I am stepping out of my car. The drive was short, Yet I am now in a no man’s land, Compared to where I was before. I have landed in a preserved bubble of Earth At the heart of the countryside. The roots of my family are planted here.
Hey everyone, I was talking to a friend of mine and we were wondering about the definition of love. What is Love to us? Here is what I came up with: To me “Love” is a delicate potion, a mix of attraction, admiration, desire, and care – all the above being physical and intellectual.
This is a poem – a letter to myself – I wrote about ten years ago. Reading it back today made me smile. I have become the woman I wanted to be then. Twenty-year old me would be proud. This ten-year-older, future version of herself is just like she had envisioned.
If you look closely through the window bars You can catch a ghostly shape – ephemeral Memento of generations of students Walking through trodden alleys to sit Their final rounds – from blank pages to hastily, Frantically scribbled ones. Their bearing strides