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Poetry

Virescent lines drawing curves of hills I worship every time I recall her figure, Douglas firs ali…
An owl swivels in her carriage of primordial haunts. In her padlocked church of trees. She kno…
I awoke this morning, and as I was sipping my coffee, the thought of where I was in life brought me …
This dimly-lit café, there’s a voice then two, then three speaking like a broken triangle w…
I leapt behind the horses of my mind’s imagined sleigh As snow had fallen overnight to softly greet…
Dead poets’ poems, seen within the admiring eyes of the living. The power of sadness penned…
I read somewhere about this French artist making porcelain weapons   They symbolise…
To the universe who places the perfect kindred spirits in my path. Thank you for your protection, th…
It was the guy coming the other way this time that looked down toward the ground... then slo…
I sketched your face in the midst of a bleached sky; touching the cool wet sands barefoot a…
I love the way you smile the way you squint your eyes when you laugh   I love the way you d…
The flame hovered silently, above its sooty wick Throwing jagged shadows on the walls of mortared…
In Memory of Victims of War Here : parents go to bed with no hope Of seeing their children in …
If only eyes could differentiate good from bad, I would be somewhere, thinking greater things. …
most days the sea of sadness engulfs you like a tsunami that swallows homes people…
Maa doesn't talk about numbers She says I'm 17 monsoons old She hands me Shakespeare's ironies…

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