poetry

Writing, in itself, is one of the purest forms of art. You can call it magical too. Believe me!  Isn’t it fascinating to note how...

How beautiful is the Poetry of the onesWhose hearts ache of last nights love.That left them and their shirts,crumpled on the bed sheets. Like feathers...

Cliff stared at the ceiling, eyes all blank and mind devoid of any thoughts. It has been years since he came to know that...

Blue-green eyes of a forlorn man, distraught with grief and far beyond, Aching tears welled in his eyes, fell on his boots without a second thought, brown...

The sun asked me a question that I could not answer, He said "Why in the night lays awake the dancer"? Even though he is awake...