Hiraeth

Water flows through creeks and crevices of withered mountains when it rains over their pride ridden heads. Heads, as they say, are meant to be held high; necks, as we have seen, break under the curse of ego sometimes. In the end, if you don't step over this grandeur and pay courtesy to love, a …

clichés.

It is a fresh sunny day. You are strolling on this narrow street beside a park, listening to children giggling, riding high on their summer spirits. The grass is tender. It is like a newborn baby that just made its way out of its mother's womb; too scared to face the world, but too pure …

Cages…

Our history has known cages; Of all kinds and characters. The one with bars of gold And the others with floors of dirt. The ones which held the innocent And the others which freed the ghouls. But not very often, When you walk through the pages Of your own history, You land up Imprisoned. Imprisoned …

pause.

Your song is a choir of rushed strokes of black hollow paint on a white anxious canvas dangling free. Free. From a lone nail on a brick wall standing old behind the house of your dreams. You bury the dead behind it. They rise up as demons on starry nights and throw an embrace around …

Create your website with WordPress.com
Get started