Category: Hand Picked

  “I have been here before, but I do not remember why.”  The river stretches before me,...

  The crisp water rides its way up the smooth sand and then retreats, leaving a unique foam I...

  ventnor city, new jersey    in the long stripe of setting sun,  at the hour...

    It starts- My footsteps  enter the rose-garden, it withers with every step...

  A mirage along scorching deserts is an illusion that makes the faint heart flutter.  ...

  I don’t know why they have brought me here. This place seems familiar, but...

…once – even without these frozen words you can no longer bear to write. You are afraid to...

It must still be him, placing a piano on the blue glass roof of the sea, making you quiver like a...

    after The Nightingale’s Song at Midnight and the Morning Rain by Joan Miro (Spain),...

In Karachi, Nightfallslikeyourhair. I sit and braid it as I count, So many knitted sadnesses,...