writing

Therapy

Poetry

Do not be fooled when I dance Born to survive I dance Born to resist I dance To feed on memories of conversations, moments lined

Somewhere in random conversations people throw words like ‘she has a way with words’. Subtly I’d like to think I have a way with words,

I write, More than I speak. I carry my words In feathers. They’re silver lined Like the moon. I touch them with a Light hand.

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The Walls We Build: “There is loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of

I’m skilled at bottling up my feelings but I’ll burst if you shake me. one pull at a loose thread and I come apart at

Another child has been killed by yet another house-help – this time they are both males. The boy, a child of 3, was placed inside

At exactly twelve noon, she was found dead. Sitting all by herself, a fat old cat resting at the foot of her chair; oblivious of