Like shivering stars sprinkled over a black carpet of tonight, the silver bubbles rise from the bottom of the ocean of my mind and like the stars, linked together into animals and heroes – all by us, they, too, linked together,
night is alive with stars watching moonflowers’ unfurling petals I sit among their shadows my feet trammels dust waiting for your return long ago moonbeams touched my face or was it you whispering, setting my blood roaring my head spinning.
Fossilised resin crystals from forgotten forests encircle collar bones toffee-like & organic amber conjures a timeless world before flowers insects immortalised inside sweet sunlit orbs beyond history Now so-called amber notes lay the basis for modern perfumes product of our imagination
Panoptes: Mother with her gilded champagne hair, seemingly infinite blue eyeballs, needed no cameras, not when she had a real time feed from her many plucked out eyes discreetly hidden in immaculate room top corners, in any book that had o’s and
Drenched Thoughts, A Novel by Anita Nahal. (Authors Press, New Delhi, 2023) ISBN: 978935529637 Price: Rs 495 Pages: 214 This book had to be written. Every intelligent, professionally qualified, smart woman who goes through an abusive marriage owes it in a
The dried yellowed leaf, Disowned by the rigid tree, Still dream of the green, Of the roots and seed. Brown was all around, Or to put it right it was black, But the leaf still saw green, Inside out all dreamy green.
The halfmoon cruelly glowers a chiascuro profile in the smist (cool air dulled by heavy smoke) that wafts upslope from the campfires of misguided tourists travelling to the 6th extinction while notifications ping phones across the sleepless valley.
I know it is frightening my darling your body is seeping blood like a sewer runnel from the centre of you red like the trail of some wounded creature leading in streaks and smears straight back to the secret the
how dare they tell her what she may be born, dead or un-free how dare they tell her not to whistle or how her mouth curls sexily as she speaks of freedom from their bottled notions of beauty how dare they tell
When I say a big ego I mean a male ego I mean my ego is a male and a big one at that He knocks us down with doubt and sarcasm pros and cons and taunts an image to maintain
I am a lover of imperfections Drawn to the rugged arches of My backyard patio And the haphazard petunias In the rough black window boxes. I do not crave The neatly manicured lawn With the perfect robin Pecking at the perfect