Literature - Page 5

A black line of clouds expands upwards above the trees. I watch in confusion. Your boots crumble honeycomb-cracks stepping across the yard towards me. Your frown deepens, battered hat in hand. My smile falters. The stifling heat. On a day like this

A baby when she wants As evil when she haunts Sometimes Jolly, sometimes Bossy She is the one and only Artsy-Topsy At times as wild as a hungry Raccoon Very soon as mild as the silent Moon Her nails are clean, but

“ We shall meet again…… by the gates of the Villa of Peace, ‘’ Vidya who was researching in Leiden University had scribbled in my notebook, as I was about to return home to India. It was my second visit to Leiden.

With a towel wrapped around her wet hair, Mariam stood in her closet, trying to figure out what shalwar kameez to wear to the family dinner. She rummaged through, passing all the bright-coloured ones and landed on a black one. She

“Saleem!” Ami called from the kitchen. “Your friends are almost here. Quickly go and grab a dozen eggs from the barn”. I swiftly hurried down the clay stairs, absorbing their coolness as I went through the blazing morning sun that kept donating

Wild Meadows We were allowed To laugh, but not loud Hushed, the windows must be closed Mind the door, not ajar. It took mind to defy and speak The heart always believed That it was love I was protected and valued. I

Sky shelters the magic bowls that wrapped. Drizzle dances Ahead of street lights. Stillness of the wet city Breeze and chilly. Carving bundles Of memories. I could sense-even a city has nerves Of such emotions. A mid-night sounds Of heavy rain drops.

The Bonsai She opened the shining gift wrap And delighted she was to find that exotic bonsai. The beautiful tree so carefully tamed to be dwarfed with gentle love that it was contented inhibited. Excited, she asked friends and the internet some

Snow capped purple mountains I see, Whispering a melody for me to feel. The fresh perfumery scent of the Fraser Fir, soothe my lungs in fragment fresh air. Sun dips beyond the hazy mountain range; glow of the rising moon doth search

If I were blonde like those princesses from non-woke Disney productions (or more realistically like my fair haired father) it might’ve turned an icy, silvery white like a piece of moonlight frozen by magic or accident and somewhat like the silver tilla