Papers and Canvas boards are not only where you find poetry and art.
Who decides your moments of melancholy and moments of delight?
Everyone is made up of two forms. Forms which surface at different times.
A theft is committed. But who is at fault?
The wind ran excitedly, Like an anxious young woman, Eager to share the secrets Which she heard the bushes whisper. Eager to share the tales Which she heard the mountains narrate. With the grand old trees Always pleasing, And sometimes annoying them With her chirpy chatters and endless musings. Love, ~Pramegha
Days went by, grew up They turned into months My quill remain alone With no verse spelled out No poem, no prose The blank pages horrified There was an uneasiness A lot was felt, a lot was felt But nothing put in words I yearned for the calmness That spreads through creation. But wisdom talked… Continue reading Waiting for the Wave
Whenever we talk about movies, horror is my favourite genre. I love the atmosphere getting spooky and thrilling. The best part is though, that the movie might not scare you as much at the time when you watch it as it's recollection does on a sleepless night. But yes, there is that one thing with… Continue reading The Horror Show.
To truly laugh, you must be able to take your pain, and play with it. - Charlie Chaplin He was just ready now. It takes time. A hour has passed, but he was quicker today. He just added a little bit more of red near the eye, perfect now! Half an hour was still left.… Continue reading A face painted.
I look again now At those strings lying jumbled which were held before In relations. I thought I was precise In holding them out to you Perhaps not. Who says money isn't magnetic I saw you pulled myself Towards hands filled, hearts empty I saw you hugging bodies Decorated with gems, platinum My heart, not… Continue reading Practical Idiots
Here is an extract from the poem, ' What are big girls made of' by Marge Piercy. "How superior we are now: see the modern woman thin as a blade of scissors. She runs on a treadmill every morning, fits herself into machines of weights and pulleys to heave and grunt, an image in her… Continue reading Woman Of Pain